On Your Horses, Boys
by Jordan McKenzie
Summary: A rewrite of the ending of VENDETTA. The threat of "excruciating pain" becomes a reality for both Ezra and Chris! The final chapter is up - Ezra makes one last effort to escape!
1. Chapter 1

ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS

By Jordan McKenzie 

Disclaimer: This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

Timeline: Near the end of VENDETTA. Yes, yes, I basically rewrote another episode, sorry. I should be ashamed of myself, shouldn't I?

**Part 1**

Hank Connelly had finally made peace with the son-in-law he vowed never to forgive for the death of his daughter and grandson. Shaking hands and speaking words of seeing each other again some day, they parted a couple miles outside of town. Hank, after killing the man he found responsible for the heinous Larabee murders, mounted up and headed for the safety of Mexico. Chris, still feeling little satisfaction after the slaying of his family's killer, rode back to Four Corners with Vin and Buck. 

"You reckon he'll be alright?" Buck asked as he glanced back one last time at the lone figure heading south.

"Don't know," Chris answered, "but he needs to put some distance between him and the Nichols Family."

"Yeah, and we need to get back to town and make sure the Nichols head on back to Kansas City," Vin added. "When they find out Hank's gone they ain't gonna take it none too kindly that we helped him."

"There's nothing they can do about it now."

"They may not catch Hank, but there's plenty they can do. Ezra sent them on a wild goose chase."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"To Juarez," Vin explained. "They warned him about helping Hank and promised him, uh…"

"Excruciating pain," finished Buck. "Damn, I forgot all about that. We best be headin' back fast before those boys decide to make good on their threat."

Understanding the danger, the three men spurred their mounts and headed home.

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Ezra decided to make another pass down the hotel boardwalk to make sure the Nichols boys had indeed ridden out of town. He and the remaining peacekeepers had plans to meet up at some point to discuss how to best handle the group when they returned, but there was such uneasiness in the air he decided to take a look around on his own. He leaned forward and peered through the lace-covered window of the hotel. Satisfied none of the men sporting weepers were present he straightened, stretched his back and turned to check the alley just twenty feet away. The movement caused the whiskey bottle left behind by the Nichols to tilt in his coat pocket and bump his chest. He'd pocketed the fine liquor after Nathan warned him to "go easy", but the dust of the day made that advice seem unreasonable. He strode around the wooden building and began to reach for the glass container. Before he could raise it to remove its cork, two hands grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into the side of the building. His face met the rough wood of the wall as a body pressed heavily against his back and then the hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck. One snaked alongside his arm and took the whiskey bottle from his grasp.

"Now I wondered where we left that," a husky voice said against his right ear. "Figures you'd be helping yourself."

Ezra recognized the voice of the largest of the Nichols clan and coughed. "I assure you I was simply holding it for you until you returned."

The man behind him shifted his arms and punched him in the side. "I'm sure you were."

Another blow to the ribs, harder this time, caused the air in Ezra's lungs to catch in his throat. Damn, but he should have seen this coming. Why hadn't he been more careful? 

The hold that had forced him to the wall changed and before he could suck in a good breath, he was spun around and pushed further into the alley.

"Gentlemen," Ezra croaked when he realized there were three of the Nichols boys cornering him, "there is no need for violence."

Peter Nichols gave a nasty snarl as he stepped in front of his larger brother. "I disagree. You see we followed your directions to Chris Larabee's place." 

The gambler rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and felt for the wall at the end of the alley with the other. "Ah, then I take it you found his cabin with no trouble."

Peter shook his head, not believing the audacity of the man. "What do you think?"

"Well now, the most inept gathering of men with a brain between them could have figured out my instructions without my having to draw a map," Ezra said, plastering a toothy grin on his face.

The Nichols looked at each other in wonder, but as Peter took a menacing step forward Ezra raised his right arm and released the derringer from up his sleeve. The sudden arrival of the small gun in his hand stepped them back and allowed him to retrieve his sidearm from his holster. "I do believe this conversation is over, gentlemen."

Peter shook his head again and clasped his hands behind his back. "Now you see, I have to disagree with you again," he answered and raised a hand to motion to the two men behind him. In the next instant, a fourth brother rounded the corner of the alley prodding Nathan ahead of him with a gun. Jackson, who had obviously taken a few punches to the face, appeared bewildered.

Ezra looked between Peter and Nathan once or twice before he realized he had little choice but to surrender. Two of the black clad men in the alley relieved him of his weapons and he recalled the threat they'd made just the day before. A shudder ran through him when he realized he was about to be in a world of hurt.

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Nathan stumbled through the back door of the hotel when he was roughly shoved through by one of the more obscure members of the Nichols clan. It dawned on him then he didn't know most of the names of the men who now threatened him and Ezra. He righted himself and followed the two men holding the gambler by both his arms. Their journey ended in the hotel kitchen, a rather small area made smaller by the presence of nine new occupants. Nathan noted none of the hotel staff was anywhere to be seen, either by good fortune or by preconceived planning. He favored the latter since good fortune seemed to have ridden out of town with Hank Connelly. 

Peter Nichols quietly gave orders to three of his family members and pointed them out of the room in the direction of the lobby. He then turned and motioned for the men holding Ezra to bring him over as Nathan was unceremoniously forced into a chair near the stove.

"Now then Mister… Standish, was it? I believe you and I have some business to take care of."

Ezra smiled unflinchingly despite his arms being twisted in an awkward position. "Perhaps we should discuss it over a bit of libation," he said, eyeing the whiskey bottle Peter held in his hand.

"Oh this you mean, you'd like to share it with me as we discuss Chris Larabee and that murderer Connelly. No no, you see I have other plans. I want you to enjoy this bottle all on your own." 

Ezra raised an eyebrow then jerked back when Peter Nichols raised the bottle over his head and suddenly brought it down to crash on the floor. The glass container shattered and lay in small pieces as amber colored whiskey puddled around its remains. Peter eyed the ruins somewhat disappointed. "Well now, I would hate to have it said I slighted you in any way, Mr. Standish. Boys," he called to his brothers as he motioned to a shelf behind the counter. He waited patiently until a stack of beautifully glazed floral print plates was set within his reach. With a cold nonchalance, he raised the stack with both hands and dropped them atop the broken bottle. The plates broke into large shards that spilled haphazardly across the floor.

Wondering what on earth Nichols had in mind, Ezra glanced at Nathan then looked around at the faces of the other men in the room. The others appeared to know exactly what was going on since they all shared the same dangerous smile of amusement. The men grasping his arms manhandled him up onto a counter and began yanking up his pant legs. Seconds later, his boots were removed and he was lowered to the floor on bare feet. He wrinkled his brow as he once again looked at Nathan. What the hell were they planning?

Peter moved to stand beside the broken glass on the floor, his hands once again clasped behind his back. "Now then, let me tell you how this is going to work. You, Mr. Standish, are going to tell me how I can find Chris Larabee and Hank Connelly. Connelly is going to die for the murder of my brother David, you and Larabee are going to be punished for your part in helping him. You have allowed the men we're after to run, you will not be so lucky. I can assure you running will be the last thing you do for a very long time. In fact, I intend to see you don't do much walking either."

Nathan realized a split second before Ezra what Nichols had in mind. He quickly raised himself off his chair but was knocked back into it by the largest of the brothers. 

"Mr. Jackson, you will remain seated. Your punishment has not yet been decided," Peter said casually before he returned his attention to the gambler. "Mr. Standish, I will ask this question only once. Where are Larabee and Connelly?"

Ezra raised his chin and tried to straighten under the weight of the two men holding him, but he didn't say a word.

"Your actions don't surprise me, so you shouldn't be surprised by mine." He looked down at the shards of glass on the floor. "Join me over here, why don't you."

Ezra was stunned by the request even if he had figured out in advance why his boots had been taken.

Peter motioned to the man beside Nathan who in turn jerked the healer from his chair and hit him hard across the side of his head. Nathan fell to the floor. When he didn't get up as the man who'd hit him ordered, he received a brutal kick to the ribs.

"Leave him alone," Ezra shouted when Nathan was struck again.

"We will leave him when you've done as you've been told. Now join me."

Nathan looked up from where he lay on the floor. "Ezra, no."

"The path to righteousness is never easy, Mr. Standish," Peter taunted, pointing to the glass covered floor between him and the gambler. 

One of the men gripping Ezra's arms smiled wickedly when he felt a shudder go through him. Slowly but surely, Ezra began moving towards the shards that would soon lay waste to his bare feet.


	2. Chapter 2

ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS 

Part 2

Chris, Buck and Vin stabled their horses and headed for the saloon. It hadn't been a particularly long ride back to town, but it had been a hot, dusty one. Since they needed to check on Ezra anyway, a couple of beers seemed the perfect remedy for the heat. Letting their eyes adjust to the building's darker interior, they walked to where Josiah and JD sat eating a late lunch and pulled up chairs to join them. 

Josiah motioned for the barkeep to bring over three more beers and shoveled another spoon of beans into his mouth. "I take it you were able to send Hank on his way," he said around a piece of bread.

Chris nodded as he pulled his hat off and laid it on the table. "Yeah, he's headed to Mexico. There been any trouble here?"

"Nah," JD answered, "everything's been real quiet since Ezra gave the Nichols directions to your place."

"I heard," Chris said and helped the barkeeper distribute the drinks he'd delivered to the table. "He bought us enough time to put Hank in the road without being spotted. I should probably thank him."

He watched Josiah half-heartedly wipe at his mouth and sip his drink before the preacher craned his neck around to look at the doorway. 

"Somethin' goin' on I should be worried about?"

"Not likely, we just haven't seen Ezra or Nate in a while. They probably just got busy with some of the town folk while they were checkin' for Mrs. Nichols and her boys. That family has ruffled some feathers around here. I think everyone'll be glad to finally see the back side of 'em."

"You'll get no argument there. They'll probably be back soon though from that little detour Ezra sent them on, so we'd best discuss what our next move is gonna be."

"Why don't we just load 'em up in that fancy coach of theirs, lock the door and point the horses in the direction of Kansas City," JD suggested.

Vin set his beer back on the table. "Have you boys checked that coach out yet?"

"What dya mean?" 

"I nosed around a little after they got here, that thing's armored. I imagine it could take most anything we throw at it."

"Armored?" asked Chris.

"Yeah, ain't never seen anything like it. It's like a fortress on wheels. I reckon they've found it real useful for wreakin' havoc on folks."

"Damn, then it'd be a good idea to keep them away from that thing if they try to make a run for it. JD, that's your job. You see anything funny going on with that buggy, you give us a holler." 

JD smiled his agreement and took another bite of his lunch.

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Nathan staggered forward, one foot in front of the other, or as near to it as he could get. He felt like he'd been used as a punching bag, but the hits to his head and ribs weren't what had knocked the wind out of him; it was the look in Ezra's eyes when the Nichols separated him from the healer and then leaned over to whisper in his ear. He'd give anything to know what they'd said, what they'd threatened him with, because Ezra went as pale as he'd ever seen the man. 

Jackson knew he'd been released because the matriarch of the family had ordered it. She had evidently felt obliged to him since he'd doctored her son's arm, but she also had a second more dangerous reason – to have him fetch one Chris Larabee. She had pieced together that Nathan was one of the seven men who protected the town but she wasn't interested in him, she wanted the man directly responsible for the disappearance of her son's killer. She already had the man guilty of distracting her henchmen so her prey could escape and that meant Ezra was now in the worst possible position of the entire group. He had to get to Chris and he had to do it quickly.

He stumbled across the street, bumping into a passerby a time or two, but eventually made it to the relative protection of the saloon. It was Vin who first spotted him as he hung to the batwing door and literally swung himself inside the dark room. Tanner caught him just as he dropped to the floor.

Nathan tried to catch his breath as he leaned against the sharpshooter. Once he could speak, the first words out of his mouth were, "They've got Ezra."

"What?" Vin asked.

"The Nichols, they're holed up at the hotel and they've got Ezra."

Chris took one of Nathan's arms as Vin pulled him off the floor. Once they had him in a chair, they gathered round to check him out.

"They did this?" Larabee asked as he took Jackson by the chin and examined his face.

"Don't matter none, they're gonna do worse to Ezra if we don't get him outta there." He swatted at the hand on his face and tried to stand.

"Whoa there," warned Vin, "just take a second and tell us what happened."

Nathan settled in the chair and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. "I was walkin' this side of town when I saw Ezra checkin' out the hotel. I was gonna meet up with him but two of the gang grabbed me and decided I needed a few bruises. It was all for Ezra's benefit 'cause they went after him straight away and cornered him in the alley. He could've gotten away, but when he saw me he gave himself up."

Josiah rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"They forced us both into the hotel kitchen and started asking him where you and Hank were." He looked up at Chris. "They know he meant to trick 'em."

"Yeah, that wasn't hard to figure," the gunfighter answered, rubbing his hands together.

"Chris, we gotta do somethin'. They're gonna hurt him bad if we don't get him outta there. They've already hurt him and he knows…"

"Knows what?"

"The look he gave me when I left him… I couldn't hear what they were sayin' but I think they were givin' him vivid details of what they planned to do to him. He tried not to show it but he was scared, Chris. We gotta get to him." He straightened himself and rose off the chair. "I ain't leavin' him over there to die."

"No one's gonna let Ezra die. We just gotta think on how to get him back, what to do next," Buck said as he paced the small area near the door.

"We try to talk 'em outta hurtin' Ezra, that's what we do next," the healer answered.

Chris took the healer by the arm. "I know you, Nathan, you already tried that. Did it do any good while you were over there?"

Nathan thought back on his pleas to let the gambler go; no one had paid any attention. "No," he finally admitted.

"Then we come up with another way."

Jackson looked around the saloon. The five lawmen were present, but the person in the middle of the whole controversy was missing. "Where's Hank?"

"Halfway to Mexico by now."

"Mexico?"

"We figured it was best for him to head south."

"I hope it was the best for Ezra," Nathan replied. "That family ain't in no mood for excuses as to why we can't hand Hank over to 'em."

Chris folded his arms across his chest. "Damn, why'd that old man have to lead that bunch here?"

"I reckon he was scared and lookin' for someone he knew would help him," Vin said.

"Yeah, well I almost didn't. Now Ezra's hurt because I did. That old man better ride hard because if it comes down to him or Ezra…"

"Uh, Chris," Buck said, motioning to the back of the saloon.

There in the shadows stood the last person Larabee ever expected to see -- Hank Connelly, a gun raised on display in his hand.

The gunfighter couldn't believe it. "Hank? What the hell are you doin' back here?"

"I shot him, Chris Larabee. I shot the man who killed your wife and child." Connelly's eyes were cold and distant.

"What?"

"I passed him on the trail and I killed him. I shot him three times with this gun. You can thank me for the death of the butcher who killed your family."

"What're you sayin'?"

Buck saw it plainly. "Chris, his mind's gone. He ain't right in the head."

It was one of the few times in his life he'd ever hesitated, but Chris couldn't grasp quickly enough what his father-in-law had done.

Wilmington called his friend's name and drew his attention. "Chris, we ain't got time to sort Hank out right now. Best we sit him down in the back while we try to come up with some way of gettin' to Ezra."

Larabee rubbed his eyes and spoke behind his hand. "This day just gets better and better."

"Chris Larabee," a feminine voice could be heard shouting from the street outside the saloon. "Chris Larabee, can you hear me?"

"She's out there, Chris, Mrs. Nichols," Vin announced, standing by the window.

The voice shouted again. "Chris Larabee, send out the man who killed my boy and do it now. We know you're meanin' to protect him but trust me when I say there's nothing you can do to save him."

Chris looked to the back of the saloon as Buck settled Hank in a chair. The old man twisted the knotted kerchief he held in his hands and smiled to himself.

"What dya wanna do?" Tanner asked.

"I reckon we oughtta talk to her, try to convince her Hank's left town."

Vin shook his head.

"Or maybe I'll try the truth and tell her he's sick and needs help."

"You know she ain't gonna buy it."

"Yeah I know, but what else can I do? I have to try something."

Vin nodded. "I'll be right behind ya. Just keep an eye out; they play real dirty."

Chris settled his hand on the gun beneath his serape and walked through the doors of the saloon. In the middle of the street stood Mrs. Nichols, looking confident, righteous and completely in control. Her whole demeanor set him on edge. She was just a little too cocky and it wasn't until he looked towards the building across the street he fully understood why. There between the two white posts marking the hotel's entrance hung the very battered and bloodied body of Ezra Standish.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS

Part 3

Chris' first reaction to the sight of Ezra dangling from ropes outside the hotel was horror. The gambler hung limply from bloody wrists and sagged bent-kneed with the tops of his bare feet scraping the dirty boards of the sidewalk. The only clothing he wore was his gray and black striped pants and they were fast becoming stained solid with the blood oozing from countless cuts covering his chest and back.

Larabee's shock quickly gave way to anger, anger he felt tighten his fists and twist his gut. He swallowed hard and instinctively moved to help his friend.

"No, Mr. Larabee," Mrs. Nichols warned. "You will stay where you are or he'll receive more punishment for his part in this deceit."

Peter Nichols stepped from behind Ezra's slumped body and held out a small whip with many tails. He gripped its wooden baton firmly in his grasp and shook the heavy leather fingers of the weapon for the gunfighter to see.

Chris was sickened when his eye caught the glisten of Ezra's blood in the afternoon sun. Against his better judgment, he remained where he was and tried to will the gambler to look up. "Why did you do this to him?" he yelled over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Standish.

"He tried to play us for fools and allowed you to escape when we came looking for you," Mrs. Nichols answered.

"Well, I'm back now so cut him loose."

"He will hang there until I am ready to cut him down," she proclaimed.

Chris stared at Ezra. There was something awkward in his posturing, peculiar in his placement between the beams of the hotel. When he couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, he dismissed it and redirected his attention to the state of the man's face, chest, stomach and back. Long lash marks crisscrossed his torso bearing witness to the undeniable fact he'd been whipped repeatedly and without remorse. His face was bruised, his lip was split, and one eye was swollen shut. He'd clearly been beaten senseless because every time the gunfighter thought he saw the man look at him, his head would bob and either drop to his chest or fall back to stare blindly at the ceiling.

"Ezra," Chris shouted, "can you hear me?"

The gambler slowly brought his gaze from the wooden planks overhead in an attempt to track the voice calling his name. He knew the voice, trusted it, but simply couldn't find where it was coming from. His head lolled again and his chin rested on his chest.

Chris turned and approached Mrs. Nichols. "Lady, you seriously need to get over this vendetta of yours."

Just as he was about to reach for the heavyset woman, he heard a loud crack and a pain-filled cry come from behind. Vin called to him at the same time he looked over his shoulder. Peter Nichols straightened, recovering his position after having stricken Ezra hard across the right shoulder and back with his whip.

Ezra's body jerked violently.

Chris' fury returned. "You," he said sharply to the man holding the whip, "hit him again and I swear I'll take you apart with my bare hands."

"You'll do no such thing, Mr. Larabee," the old lady stated boldly. "This man has committed a crime against my family and he will pay, as will you."

The gunfighter was filled with so much rage he nearly went after the old woman again but Vin reached out and grabbed him by the arm.

"Chris, don't," Vin said. "From the looks of him, Ezra can't take much more."

Mrs. Nichols moved forward. "You have just fifteen minutes to get Hank Connelly out here."

"Listen to me, Hank is already on his way back home. He headed east this morning, so cut Ezra down, take your boys and get the hell outta my town."

"You think me a fool? I know for a fact that murderer is again under your protection. One of my boys spotted him sneaking into the back of the saloon," she shrieked. "I see you need more proof of my sincerity."

Nichols raised her hand to Peter and he once again used his whip on Ezra. This time the tails not only dug into his back, but they reached to cut into his right side and belly as well. The gambler tried to pull away from the pain but merely succeeded in wrenching his bound arms over his head. His breath caught in his throat and the scream that rose up came out as a choked gurgling sound.

"You son of a bitch," Chris yelled as he took a step towards Peter. He would have made good his promise and killed him on the spot if he hadn't seen the man again raise his whip and motion towards the gambler. It took more control than Chris knew he possessed, but he stopped and lowered his fists. He took a hard look at Ezra and saw tears of pain spill from his clenched eyes.

"Hang on, Ezra," Chris said under his breath.

Mrs. Nichols moved closer to the hotel entrance. "Bring Connelly to me."

"Hank is here," Larabee said, taking a deep breath to keep his anger in check. "But I can't give him to you. He was wrong to shoot your son, no one's denying that, but he's sick, mentally unstable, he didn't know what he was doing."

"I don't care if he was possessed by the devil himself, I want Hank Connelly here in front of me now. He killed my David and he will pay for it. And don't think on trying to reach this friend of yours. There are guns aimed right at him. One wrong move and he'll be shot where he stands."

Chris took a step towards her without thinking but Vin held tight to his arm.

"Let's get back to the saloon," Tanner said calmly.

"I ain't leavin' him here on his own."

"He won't be alone, we're all here to get him outta this. Now let's get back to the others and plan what to do."

Chris wished he could get Ezra to look up, but the gambler was oblivious to anything but his pain. Seeing no alternative, the gunfighter gave in and allowed Vin to pull him towards the saloon.

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Ezra tried desperately to understand what was going on around him. His mind was in a fog like none he'd ever known. There was so much pain throughout his body he was actually amazed he was still conscious. Or was he? Perhaps he was simply experiencing a fevered delirium and the agony was the conjuring of illness. That would explain why he was so hot and thirsty and unable to breathe properly. He wondered where Nathan was. He'd seen him, hadn't he, his eyes filled with worry and concern. Was that for him? Damn, but he wished he could just focus.

He rolled his head back and opened his eyes to see a wooden ceiling overhead. At least he hoped it was a ceiling and he wasn't hanging upside down staring at the floor. He was so disoriented he couldn't tell. The resulting nausea was so overwhelming he was forced to close his eyes and listen to the angry voices arguing around him. One voice he thought he recognized – Chris'. Somehow the sound of that voice, angry or not, made him feel better, safer. If Chris was near then he had little to worry about… or did he? There was something in the back of his brain telling him the gunfighter's presence represented betrayal. Oh God, had he unknowingly been disloyal and revealed his whereabouts to the Nichols? No, he was sure he hadn't.

Then he heard his name and his heart began to pound harder in his chest. Chris was calling him, but the hurt in his body was so intense he couldn't answer. He couldn't even raise his head. He tried in vain to call back but nothing came out of his mouth except a pitiful whimper. It would have embarrassed him terribly if he'd had enough strength to care. Right now all he wanted was to sleep, to find that state of unconsciousness that eluded him. Then his mind registered a new pain – a dozen knives slicing into his flesh. Where had it come from? The agony exploded in his brain and he felt his body spasm out of his control. The darkness, he wanted to fall into the darkness. But sadly, miserably the darkness never claimed him.

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Josiah was holding onto a thoroughly pissed off Nathan when Vin and Chris reentered the saloon.

"Damn it, Josiah, get outta my way," the healer roared.

"You're not goin' out there, Nathan, so forget it. They'd shoot you as soon as look at ya," Sanchez answered, mustering as much patience as he could.

"They'll kill him if we don't do somethin'."

"Nathan," Vin called, "settle down. We're gonna help Ezra."

Jackson shook his head and moved to the window overlooking the hotel. He rubbed the back of his neck and began to stare at his friend hanging helplessly in front on him. He watched Ezra first twitch then shudder and knew he was wearing down quickly. The gambler's head had fallen forward and it appeared he simply couldn't raise it. Then he shifted, deliberately or instinctively, and his head rose enough for Nathan to see his face. A grimace appeared that the healer had only seen Ezra make one other time in the past. He pulled himself away from the agony on that pale, blood-streaked face and looked at the man as a whole.

"Oh, no," Nathan muttered, "it can't be." He left the window and tried once again to get past Josiah at the door.

Buck stopped him this time. "Hey, pard, what is it? What's got you so ready to take on a few dozen bullets?"

"His shoulder," the dark man answered. "Buck, his shoulder's dislocated and they got him out there strung up by his arms."

"Damn it," Chris said as he stepped up to the batwing doors. "I knew there was somethin' wrong about the way he was hangin'."

Vin pulled out his spyglass and aimed it at Ezra trying to see if they'd missed anything else.

"My God, how's he standin' that kind of pain?" asked Buck, taking a position alongside the gunfighter.

JD's curiosity got the better of him and he moved to take a look. He was sick just at the thought of what the gambler must be feeling, but rallied enough to ask the obvious question. "Why don't he stand up and take some of the weight off his shoulder?"

"He's probably too out of it to know how to help himself," Buck answered.

"That ain't it," Vin said, "is it, Nathan? You said before they'd already hurt Ezra. I'm seein' blood puddled up around his feet."

"They cut him," Jackson said, swallowing hard. "They broke a pile of glass on the floor. Just a whiskey bottle at first, then they added a few dishes. They took his boots off and made him walk in broken glass."

"Made him?" asked JD.

"By threatening me. He walked right into that misery to avoid me being hurt. Damned fool actually kept it together the whole time those shards were diggin' into the bottoms of his feet. He was hurtin' and bleedin', but he never gave in to them. He wouldn't tell them where Chris and Hank were."

Nathan paused as he remembered the sweat breaking out on the gambler's face as a small smile of victory passed between them. He'd believed he'd beaten them in that round. Then…

"Nate?" Josiah called, seeing fear fill the healer's eyes.

"You'd o' been proud, Chris," he answered softly. "He wouldn't tell 'em anything."

Larabee looked back at Jackson and wondered a moment at that statement.

"But them Nichols, they seen he could stand what they were doin' to him, so they went after him with a knife."

"A knife?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, they took a knife to his feet even though there was glass already buried in 'em. He tried real hard after that not to cry out, but he…" Nathan nearly gagged at the memory.

Chris felt the rage return as he reached again for his gun. Buck caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and turned the gunfighter to face him.

"You ain't goin' out there."

"They've tortured him, Buck. They've beat him, whipped him, taken a knife to him… His only crime was tryin' to protect me and mine. I can't let them hurt him anymore, not on my account."

"I hear what you're sayin', but if you try to take them on your own, they'll gun you down. That won't help Ezra none, will it?"

Larabee stepped back but didn't return his weapon to its holster.

Buck realized they wouldn't be able to hold Chris much longer. "I may have a plan to get Ezra back. It's risky, but it beats sittin' here watchin' him suffer."

The statement had the desired effect. Everyone, including Chris, listened carefully.

TBC

A/N: Will Buck's plan save Ezra? Hang on tight, here's where the ride really begins! Thanks to everyone who left feedback -- it really helps to keep me focused.


	4. Chapter 4

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 4**

Mrs. Nichols stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel and walked to where her son stood in the shade. She had waited such a long time to see justice done and now that it was within her grasp she was nearly giddy with the relief. She wiped her brow with her kerchief and eyed the man who hung in the hot afternoon sun.

"He's got grit, I'll give 'im that," said Peter, motioning towards Ezra. "I think he's been awake the whole time we've had him."

"Has he now." The Nichols matriarch stepped casually around the Southerner and grabbed a handful of his chestnut hair. "The good Lord must be exacting a special penance from this one then."

"He's a gambler."

"A gambler is it? Well then, its little wonder the Lord would want him to pay for his sins." She raised his head and tried to peer into half-lidded green eyes. "You should never have involved yourself in our affair, gambler. Now it seems you will be paying for your error in judgment with your life."

Ezra's mouth moved but only unintelligible sounds came out.

"What it is you have to say?" she moved an ear closer to him.

"C-Chris…"

"Chris Larabee? Do you believe he'll save you? From what I gather, he'd rather protect that murderer Hank Connelly than see you freed. He'll not be coming for you," she said, taunting him, not really believing the words she spoke. From the way the gunfighter had reacted to seeing his friend, there was little doubt in her mind he'd do almost anything to rescue him.

Ezra tried to shake his head in denial but the movement only made him dizzier.

"You're as daft as you are stubborn," she said as she dropped his head without warning. "For the life of me, I'll not understand why you'd suffer so for a man such as himself. But don't be worrying that your sacrifice will be without reward. Justice shall be served and Larabee will be taken down alongside my son's killer."

The words the old lady spewed spread through his mind like venom. Had Chris given up on him? Had he decided it better to protect Hank than to even try to save him? He shuddered at the thought he'd be left on display to die for the entertainment of the town folk. But he was a conman; a conman who let Chris down, and he supposed his future didn't look all that promising. Why wouldn't Chris save the life of his dead wife's father, no matter how estranged they were? He knew there was really no choice involved, and the reality of his predicament was becoming clearer every passing moment.

His mind continued to drift along the white-hot pain he felt throughout his body. He would probably die here. He tried to draw in a complete breath but the effort felt much like knives were lancing his entire upper body. Yes, he would die.

Finally Ezra tried to raise himself enough to shift his hips so he could roll the tops of his feet into a more comfortable position. The move proved to be one of the most painful he'd ever made… it also proved to be one of the most fortunate. With one last sharp breath, his body seized and his mind fell into the blessed darkness he'd longed for.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

"Do you think this'll work?" JD asked as he shouldered his way into the coat Buck had just taken off Hank.

"I don't know kid, but when you hear Chris offer to make a trade for Ezra you get ready to move. Vin's already gone to take out the goon watching the back of the saloon, so you should be able to get to Hank's horse without any trouble. You ride out to the end of town, let them get a quick look at ya and then make out like you're Hank tryin' to get away. Then you circle around and high tail it back here." Buck answered. He settled Hank's hat on JD's head and looked him straight in the eyes. "You sure you wanna do this? Vin or I could..."

"I can do this, Buck, quit worrying. I'm just goin' for a little afternoon ride, nothin' to it." JD grinned convincingly.

"I know you can ride that horse of yours pretty well, but this ain't your animal. Keep that in mind."

"I'll handle 'im."

"Make sure he doesn't handle you, ya got it?"

JD nodded, a serious look replacing the grin. "I won't mess this up. We gotta save Ezra."

Buck patted his approval on the young man's arm. Then he looked at Hank as the old man sat at a table in the far corner of the room, staring contentedly at the knotted handkerchief in his hands.

"Buck," Nathan called from the window overlooking the street. "We best be gettin' on with this plan of yours."

Wilmington moved alongside Jackson and looked out at Ezra. "What's happening?"

"The old lady was out there messin' with him, talking to him I think, and suddenly he stopped movin'. He was at least jerking and shakin' before, but he ain't moved at all in the last minute or two. If he keeps hangin' on that shoulder like he is, he'll do permanent damage. Not to mention he won't be able to breathe."

Buck stared at the gambler and understood what Nathan was saying; there was an eerie stillness to their friend's body. They had to move now. He turned quickly to Chris. "You're gonna be the most vulnerable, walking out there like you've got good sense."

The gunfighter shot Buck a hard look that clearly stated he was doing exactly that. "Ezra's in this because of me. I ain't lettin' him die like that."

Vin entered the room from the back of the saloon. "We were right; they only had one lookout in back. He won't be botherin' us again. It should be safe for JD to make his ride."

"Good. Chris you're gonna distract them with talk of tradin' Hank. When JD comes in sight at the end of the street, get your head down and wait for him to draw them out. Josiah, you and Nathan lay down cover for Chris and Ezra in case the Nichols try to take 'em out before they go after JD. Hopefully, he'll be too big a temptation to pass up and you'll be able to pick a couple of 'em off."

Vin stepped forward. "The lookout for the back of the saloon was also watchin' that coach of theirs. I went ahead and harnessed the horses. I'll hide myself between them and guide that thing close enough to Ezra to grab him. We can go now if you're ready, Buck."

"I reckon I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Chris remember, don't go playin' hero. Let me and Vin get to you with that wagon of theirs before you try to cut Ezra down. Once we're inside that thing we can go after the Nichols gang with everything we've got."

Larabee nodded and walked to where Connelly sat. He touched him on the shoulder and squatted down in front of him. "Hank, things are going to get pretty lively around here in a minute. I want you to stay here in the saloon."

Soft blue eyes looked up from the cloth in his hand.

"Do you understand, Hank? I want you to stay here."

Hank smiled. "No problems, Chris Larabee. No problems at all." Then he returned to his busywork.

Chris shook his head before he looked back at his men. "Let's do it."

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

The peaceful blackness that had swallowed him only moments before deserted him. What had been a cool emptiness, void of hurt, slowly mutated around him into a place of searing heat and agonizing pain. Something had snatched him away from his retreat with great urgency and brutality. When he felt the fingers of his tormentor's lash reach again for the tender skin of his lower belly, he knew how and who. When he heard the raging words beside him, he knew why.

"Wake up, gambler, who said you could sleep? We need you awake." Peter Nichols snarled as he wiped the tendrils of the bloody whip with a large napkin he'd taken from the hotel dining room.

"N-not… s-sleep," Ezra said with a slur.

"Ah, I see you've recovered enough to speak. Good, you need to be awake when your friend Larabee realizes he has no choice but to trade Connelly for you."

The Southerner tried desperately to lift his chin from his chest, but only managed long enough to mutter, "W-won't trade… for me."

"You better pray he does."

"Can't…"

When Peter saw the bound man was again flagging, he used the handle of his whip to prod him awake. He poked him on the torn skin of his stomach and spoke menacingly near his ear. "I told you to wake up!"

Ezra hissed at the pain and drew upon every ounce of strength he possessed to force his head up to rest on one of his outstretched arms. "Won't… betray fam…"

"Well, looks to me like you're wrong, gamblin' man," Nichols said with a dangerous edge to his voice, "because here he comes now."

Ezra opened the eye that wasn't swollen shut and sought the colorful serape he'd seen Chris put on earlier in the day; had it been today… no, yesterday? He'd hurt so long now he couldn't remember. His blurry vision refused to clear, but still he tried to keep his eyelid raised.

Peter moved down onto the street in front of the hotel steps. "It won't be long now and it'll all be over… for Hank Connelly anyway. You and Larabee, well that's a whole other thing. Ma always punishes those who interfere in family business."

Some part of Ezra's brain registered the threat offered by his captor. No matter what Chris did, the Nichols were planning to kill Hank, Chris and himself. And who knew if they would extend their wrath to the remaining lawmen or even the people of Four Corners. It was all a trap and there appeared little he could do about it.

TBC

A/N: To Acacia Jules—this isn't the sequel to DON'T KNOW FROM ADAM, but I promise I am working on that story as well. And girl, you know way too much about the ramifications of torture! Thanks for keeping me honest!


	5. Chapter 5

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 5**

Chris Larabee walked slowly into the middle of the dusty road separating the hotel and the saloon. He called out to Mrs. Nichols hoping to attract the attention of the whole Nichols clan. He needed to be the center of attention just long enough to have his men get into place and to be close enough to see if Ezra was still among the living. When he saw the battered Southerner raise his head of his own volition he breathed a small sigh of relief.

The Nichols matriarch heard the hail from the street and smiled. Barely holding her enthusiasm in check, she straightened her shoulders and strolled out the hotel entrance. Casually she stepped in front of Ezra, taking out her white lace kerchief and using it to wipe at the blood running down his face and pooling around his collarbone. The gathering of blood was almost an act of ritual, a rite she was careful to perform, and in an instant the delicate white fabric was stained a deep crimson. She held the crumpled cloth reverently in her open hand and moved to stand next to Peter at the bottom of the hotel steps. "I carried a handkerchief exactly like this on the day my David was shot and killed. I held it to his wounds as I watched the life flow from him… I held him in my arms as he drew his last breath. I begged him that day not to die. I've begged no man since," she said tightly, making sure Chris could clearly see the sodden lacey fabric. "Have you made your decision, Mr. Larabee?"

The gunfighter was admittedly taken aback by the vile gesture and wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if she and Hank weren't both cast from the same mold. They were both grief-stricken, both seeking revenge and both using a piece of cloth to remind them of what they'd lost. The similarities were disturbing but pointless to think about since his focus needed to be on Ezra.

"Mr. Larabee, I've not come out here to bake in the sun. What have you come to say?"

Chris looked past her to see Ezra's head fall onto his chest again.

"I'll not be playin' these games," she snarled and grabbed the small whip from her son's hand. When she turned to climb the steps, Chris knew he'd run out of time.

"No, wait! I'm here to make the trade," he said quickly.

She froze on the bottom step and grinned. _At last, _she thought to herself. She turned and once more revealed the bloodstained handkerchief in her grasp. "No tricks, I warn you. I want Connelly out here in front of me. When I have him, you may have this worthless excuse for a man." She motioned to Standish, who had grown very still.

"No tricks."

"John," she shouted to the son who stood inside the door behind her, "gather the family 'round and be ready to take your brother's killer."

"Ma?"

"You heard me, John! We all have a stake in this murderer's destruction." She threw the whip she held to the ground, turned to the son at her side and reached inside his long black coat. She removed his gun and calmly placed it in his hand. "Peter, if you see them so much as…"

She never finished her sentence. Just as she was about to order the swift execution of their prisoner should the trade actually be a ruse, a loud commotion could be heard up the street. There on a horse rearing up for all to see, was the man she'd dreamt of destroying, Hank Connelly.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

The atmosphere in the street between the hotel and the saloon quickly sparked with excitement. JD smashed the ill-fitting hat on his head, pulled back the reins of Hank's horse and forced the animal to take a couple of steps on his hind legs. The horse actually took the pose with ease and JD hastily turned him into two spinning circles before he kicked him in the sides and rode out of sight.

The Nichols boys ran from the hotel building one after the other when they heard their mother screaming at the top of her lungs to go after Connelly and bring him back to her alive. They obeyed without question and scrambled to find their mounts, but when they reached their horses several shots were fired and bullets churned the dirt at their feet.

Seeing the group disperse, Chris made a play to disarm Peter. He barreled into him, knocked the young man to the ground and wrestled for his weapon. Just as he was about to pull it free, he heard a shot nearby and turned just in time to see Mrs. Nichols grab her arm and fall. A dull thud sounded between them and he saw Ezra's Derringer fall to the ground, a glint of sunlight gleaming off its short barrel. She'd meant to shoot him in the back but Josiah had fired a shot to stop her.

"Ma, no!" shouted Peter, relinquishing his own gun and crawling to his mother's side.

Chris nodded to Josiah, who was crouched down behind the crates stacked outside the saloon's entrance. The preacher nodded back and began shouting. Chris couldn't make out what he was saying, but assumed it had something to do with being ready for the Nichols' coach. He glanced back at the old lady and her son and quickly got to his feet. Holding the gun he'd taken in one hand he reached for the knife hidden in his waistband with the other.

The echo of gunfire sounded again but Chris paid no attention to it and made his move towards Ezra. He couldn't let anything distract him, he had to cut the gambler free and get him to safety. He gave thought to changing the plan to use the coach and simply rush Ezra inside the hotel, but the gambler was looking worse with each passing second and needed to be tended by Nathan as soon as possible. There was no time for detours.

The sound of boots skidding in the dirt made Chris glance over his shoulder. He briefly saw Peter Nichols bundle up his mother and pull her toward the alley. She resisted him for a moment as she reached down to pick something off the ground. He watched as she scooped up Ezra's Derringer and tucked it into the folds of her dress before her son forced her from the street. Damn, he should've grabbed that deadly little thing when he had the chance.

He turned his attention to the task at hand, substituting the knife in his waistband with the gun he'd taken from Nichols. "Ezra," he called as he stood in front of the hanging man. Dear God, he hadn't realized just how terrible the man would appear this close up. "Ezra, can you hear me?"

One bloodshot green eye opened to stare vacantly at Chris. It blinked then blinked again before a gravelly voice spoke. "Told… you. He won't… trade… not for m-me."

Chris patted the gambler on the cheek as he bent down and tried to force him to look him in the eye. "You in there?"

Ezra flinched before he mumbled something that sounded like "_Good as__ dead."_

"You ain't there yet, but we gotta get you down so we can catch our ride outta here."

The gambler's face might have pulled a frown had half of it not been so swollen. He was obviously trying to understand who was speaking to him and why, but the effort was costing him precious strength. Then, as if someone had whispered the answer into his ear, he knew, and that knowledge terrified him. "You can't b-be here. Oh, God… w-what have I done?" He tried to look away, down at his shredded feet, up at his deadened hands, anywhere but the face of the man standing in front of him.

"Whoa now, hold still, I'm gonna cut you loose." Chris stared at his fellow lawman long and hard and quickly realized he didn't know how he was going to do that without causing him unspeakable pain.

"I must have t-told… I swear… I don't remember…Get away, run," he stuttered.

"As soon as I cut you down, just stand still."

"C-can't… can't stand."

"I know, don't you worry about it, just try not to move," Chris said, doing enough worrying for the both of them. If he cut Ezra's good arm loose first that would put all his weight on the dislocated shoulder. If he cut his injured arm free first it would likely twist and drop to the point it would tear something inside and his friend would suffer permanent damage. Some choice, but he had to make it. He'd have to try his best to hold him upright, free his awkward limb and lower it in such a way he wouldn't injure him further. He prayed he'd figure the last bit out once the arm was let loose.

"Don't… Hank," Ezra muttered.

Chris barely understood him. "Hank? Hank's in the saloon. It's alright."

"N-no… Hank," he said the name again, this time a little clearer.

Understanding Ezra was confused by what was happening Chris spoke a few words of encouragement as he worked to set him free. He had to take hold of the battered body somehow but couldn't see a way to do it without hurting him. He gritted his teeth, slid a supporting arm around the tattered waist, and pulled the gambler against him. Ezra groaned pitifully as the open cuts on his chest and belly pressed against the rough weave of Chris' serape.

The gunfighter ignored the whimper near his ear and reached the knife over his head to begin slicing through the rope knotted at Ezra's wrist. Gunfire could still be heard all around them, but he paid it no mind as he cut smoothly and quickly. Just as the last filament of rope was about to snap, he turned and tucked the knife beneath his thumb and used his fingers to grab for the gambler's wrist. Gently, carefully, despite the chaos around him, he eased the limp arm downward.

There hadn't been any feeling in Ezra's hands for a long time, but as his arm began to lower, an overwhelming rip of agony traveled its entire length and stabbed into his shoulder. Blinding pain tore a heart-wrenching cry from his dry throat. His body trembled and his vision blurred.

"Damn, I'm sorry," Chris apologized, resting the damaged limb as best he could at Ezra's side. He pulled the shaking body closer and raised a hand to the back of the lawman's head. "Breath, just breath."

Some part of the Southerner's brain understood the instruction and directed his lungs to comply. It took only a few moments, but amidst the insanity storming around them, Chris feared if he gave the man any longer to recover they'd be shot down in the street.

"Ezra, we've got to make this quick."

A weak nod against his shoulder told him it was time to cut the other limb free. He was about to reach up with the knife again when he felt the body he held stiffen. The shift was intentional, but he wasn't sure how the gambler had managed it since his feet were unable to bear weight, one hand was still tied overhead and the other was completely immobile. Something was wrong; he sensed it through the one person who could literally watch his back. "Ezra?" he asked, making no sudden moves.

Standish swallowed painfully as his eyes peered over Chris' shoulder. "H-Hank," he whispered near Larabee's ear.

"Hank?" He couldn't for the life of him understand why Ezra was so concerned for Hank. Had the old man been caught or worse, shot, by the Nichols?

Ezra drew as deep a breath as he was able and pushed a warning past his lips. "He'll… kill you… get away from me."

"I'm not leaving…"

"Damn it, Chris… Hank…" a cough stole away whatever else he had to say.

"You," someone called from the street. "Turn around you black hearted son-of-a-bitch."

Shit! Had one of the Nichols managed to sneak past Josiah and Nathan? The gunfighter gripped his burden tighter before he turned to look over his shoulder. Nichols and his mother were nowhere to be seen, but there behind him stood his father-in-law, holding a gun and pointing it straight at him. "Hank, get down, what the hell are you doing out here?"

"I'm here to kill the man who murdered my family."

"What?" Chris asked in disbelief.

"You killed my daughter, my grandson, you murdered them and you're going to pay," Hank answered, his blue eyes distant and haunted.

"Hank, listen to me, put the gun down."

Ezra didn't truly comprehend why Connelly would be looking to kill Chris but his mind understood the seriousness of the threat even if Chris didn't. He was also aware the gunfighter was completely defenseless as long as he was trying to save him. He shifted again and spoke quietly to the gunfighter. "You have to… leave me. Get out of here."

Chris turned back to look Ezra in his one good eye. He was clearly standing between two madmen.

Hank pulled back the hammer on the gun he held. "You're gonna die by my hand, for Sarah and for Adam."

"Listen, old man, I don't have time for this. Put that damn gun down and get back to the saloon. Don't you get it, there are people looking to kill you! Remember the Nichols?"

Hank heard the name and rolled it over in his mind. "Nichols?"

"Yes, you killed David Nichols, remember? You said he killed Sarah and Adam. His family is here and they mean to shoot you on sight. Now get back to the saloon."

The gun in Connelly's hand wavered as a dark fog began to build in his brain. "Here?"

Chris knew there was no reaching him now. He'd just have to pray they had time to get him into the coach and back to safety. As if on cue, he heard the large vehicle round the corner of the building and move in his direction. "Hank," he shouted, "when you see Buck, go with him! You understand? Go with Buck!" He saw the old man nod and look away.

The gunfighter turned to finish cutting Ezra loose just as he heard the wagon come to a stop not fifteen feet away. The gambler kept watch as best he could but Chris' sawing was causing a rocking motion that sickened him. Pain and nausea grew inside and he wanted nothing more than to simply drop to the ground and surrender to his body's desire to give up, but a greater desire coming from deep inside his soul overtook him.

"Chris," he choked out as dust from the coach filled his lungs. "L-look out."

Larabee literally felt Ezra's warning against his neck as the gambler's haggard breath blew hot against him. In that moment, time slowed and he became acutely aware of everything happening at once.

A voice from behind shouted, "No, Hank, don't!" It sounded like Buck, but he couldn't be sure since the plea was issued as a scream.

The rope holding Ezra's wrist overhead finally gave way and snapped against the sharp blade of his knife.

A second voice, he assumed was Vin's, yelled, "Chris, get down!"

The weight of the body he held sagged momentarily then righted itself of its own accord. He tried to maneuver himself into a position to pick Ezra up and carry him to the coach, but the gambler came at him, clumsily swinging his body forward and clung to him.

A horrifying growl filled the air just before the sound of a single gunshot resonated on the porch of the hotel building.

Ezra jerked and his upper body arced away until Chris snatched him back. The movement cost the gunfighter his balance and the two men fell, one atop the other, onto the sidewalk. He grunted in pain when he felt one of his own ribs give when he landed, but shook off the discomfort and tried to see the face of the man who lay over him.

"Ezra?" he asked when he saw surprise and fear widen the gambler's green eye. "What the hell are you doin'?"

Standish couldn't answer before his eye slid closed and his head dropped onto Larabee's shoulder.

Chris took the Southerner bodily into his arms and gently heaved him over onto his back. He looked the beaten body over and quickly discovered a new injury amongst the many, a hole nearly the size of a silver dollar gushing blood on Ezra's right side.

"Aw, shit," he said worriedly as he gathered himself and rose to his knees. Standish had been facing him when he was shot. If he had a large hole in his belly that meant the bullet had entered him from behind. He leaned over, slid a hand under the gambler's neck and pulled him upright to rest his head against his chest. When Chris ran his palm down his back he found what he was looking for, a second hole in his lower right back. "Damn, Ezra, how the hell…"

"Chris!!" Vin shouted from the street.

He turned to see Tanner bending over Buck, who lay awkwardly on the ground clutching his head. He turned his sight a couple of inches further and saw why. Hank had evidently struck the tall cowboy with his gun and was pointing the weapon crazily at anything that moved. "Hank," he called, "put the gun down."

The gun swung wildly in search of a victim; it stopped when it found him.

"You've gotta die for what you did," Connelly swore. "You left 'em, you left 'em to burn. You left my little girl and her child to die."

Chris heaved a heavy sigh. He heard the agony in those words, recognized the rage, the torment. He'd blamed himself using those exact words since the day Sarah and Adam had died. But now the bitterness and hurt that grew in both he and Hank had turned to poison and innocent people around them were paying for their grief. He looked down at Ezra and knew there was little time to save him. He'd grown paler than before, if that was possible, and he had to be taken to Nathan now.

Still kneeling on the sidewalk, Chris reached beneath his serape and gripped the gun in his holster. Slowly he got to his feet, and keeping the weapon out of sight, called in a steady voice, "Hank, I want you to listen to me."

Connelly eyed him warily.

"This is going to stop now before anyone else gets hurt." He turned at the waist and motioned with his chin. "Vin, get Buck inside the coach."

Tanner hesitated when he saw Hank shuffle his feet.

"Do it, Vin. Hank ain't shootin' nobody."

The tracker gathered Buck up and moved him cautiously into the black coach. The tall man groaned and shook his head as he leaned back against one of the seats. Vin stayed half in half out of the doorway and waited, his mare's leg at the ready.

Hank's eyes grew fierce and it seemed he would fire his gun from trembling as much as through intent. "It's come down to just you and me, Chris Larabee, just as it's always been. You ran off then and left her to die, and me, I wasn't there to protect her."

"I didn't run off and leave her, Hank. I was coming back, I did come back."

"Not soon enough!"

"No, not soon enough, but there was no way to know what was going to happen. I had no way of knowin'."

"That don't excuse you!"

"I know that! No one knows that better than me! But we've gotta stop doin' this before anyone else gets killed. We can't keep blaming each other!"

Connelly raised a sleeve to wipe at his face then gripped his gun in both hands. "I got no one else to blame," he stated sadly.

When Chris saw Hank's finger begin to pull back on the trigger, he dropped instantly to his knees at the same time bringing his own gun forward. Unbelievably, the first shot that sounded didn't come from Hank's gun or Chris', but rather from somewhere alongside the hotel. Peter Nichol's stepped into view, closely followed by his mother. Larabee had just enough time to spot a newly acquired weapon in his hand as Hank jerked and fell to the ground. He reacted instinctively and turned to fire on the man who was now aiming at him. Nichol's grabbed at his leg and staggered back into his mother. She collapsed beneath him and wailed in surprise.

Vin heard voices coming in their direction. "Chris, come on, we gotta get outta here now." When he saw the gunfighter move he climbed on top of the rig and grabbed the reins.

Larabee bent down on one knee and carefully gathered Ezra against him. The man hadn't made a sound since he'd been shot and the silence scared the hell out of him. Not knowing if he was dead or alive, he quickly hefted him in his arms and ran to where Buck was leaning out the door of the coach. Together they maneuvered the limp body inside and the ladies man gently leaned Ezra back against Chris as he felt the rig jump forward. The door swung closed from the motion and they both heard the lock catch.

Buck sat on the floor next to his friends and battled the swaying movement of the coach. When he saw the gambler's head roll against Chris' chest he put out a hand to keep it still. "Did we get to him in time?" he asked anxiously.

Chris didn't answer. He simply pulled Ezra closer, closed his eyes and prayed.

TBC

A/N: I know it's taken a while to get this part posted, but I'm hoping I'll be forgiven since it's an extra long chapter. JMcK


	6. Chapter 6

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 6**

The armored coach bounced hard as Vin turned the corner leading to Nathan's clinic and he earned yet another curse from Buck as the lanky cowboy grabbed for something, anything, to hold on to. He'd tried to steady Ezra against Chris, but the sagging body shifted again and sent an elbow into the gunfighter. A grunt of pain and a whoosh of air preceded a grimace on Chris' face.

"You okay, pard?" Buck asked as he seized Ezra's dislocated limb and stabilized it despite the rough ride.

Chris nodded and pushed a hand against his side.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, hurt a rib when we fell, it's nothing." He straightened as best he could and pulled the dead weight of Ezra's body to him. Once he'd situated himself, he looked down at the large exit wound in the gambler's belly and put a hand over it to stem the flow of blood.

Buck noticed Chris' awkward attempt to prevent further blood loss and quickly reprimanded himself for not acting sooner. He reached across the seat alongside his friend, grabbed a soft blanket and began tearing it into large pieces. Rolling a portion of the cloth into a tight bundle, he pushed Chris' bloody fingers aside and pressed it firmly against the open hole in Ezra's stomach. "I still can't believe old Hank was gonna shoot you," he said.

Chris didn't say a word as he reached for another piece of the blanket and crumpled it into a second patch. He waited for Buck to raise Ezra up then pressed the bundle hard against the bullet wound in the Southerner's back. Once the two holes were covered, Buck tied the wadded material in place by wrapping a longer strip of the cloth around his waist. The entire procedure took less than a minute, but the effort seemed to sap every last bit of Chris' strength. He leaned back against the side of the coach and rested his head on its metal surface.

"You sure you're all right, pard?"

Chris closed his eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"I'm sorry 'bout Hank."

"Yeah, Buck, me too," he finally answered.

Wilmington shook his head as he busied himself steadying Ezra's injured arm, but he couldn't stop thinking of Hank. The old man's mind couldn't make sense of the pain in his heart so they both broke under the strain. He'd seen the same thing nearly happen to Chris and he was more grateful than ever his friend was made of stronger stuff.

Ezra groaned and rolled his head against the gunfighter's shoulder. Chris never opened his eyes as he reached up and gently stilled the insensible tossing.

"Damn," Buck muttered. "How the hell could any God-fearing person do this to someone?"

Nothing else was said until Vin called to the horses and the vehicle slowed down. Seconds later, they came to a stop and the door was opened.

"It's all clear, let's get him to Nathan," Tanner said calmly.

Buck and Chris were already standing, holding Ezra between them. Vin held the door as Buck stepped backwards out of the coach, and waited to take the gambler's torso from Chris as he leaned over to lower him down. Ezra's body was so limp it reminded him of a child's rag doll and was so awkward to hold he feared his friend would spill away from him onto the dusty ground. He adjusted his grip and waited for Buck to do the same as the tall cowboy hooked his arms gently around Ezra's knees. Together they moved to ascend the stairs, careful not to jostle the slumped body if they could avoid it.

Chris climbed down from the rig and took a moment to catch his breath. He felt completely drained as he ran an unsteady hand through his blond hair. When he tried to rub at the back of his neck, he realized his fingers were numb. What the devil? He spread them in front of his face and stared; they were all there, coated in blood, yet the feeling in them was gone. He curled them to his palms and looked after the man whose blood he carried. _Damn, Ezra_, he thought, his mind searching for the 'why' of all that had happened. When the 'why' didn't come, he squeezed his hands into fists and settled simply for _Damn_.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Nathan had been able to make it back to his clinic just minutes before he heard the heavy Nichols rig pull up outside. He cleared the table he used to examine his patients and gathered what he knew he'd need to treat Ezra's wounds. Once he'd pulled back the curtains and lit a couple of lanterns for extra light he went to the door to guide Buck and Vin inside. Without instruction, they carried the Southerner to the table and gently laid him on his side. Nathan began immediately cutting away the blood soaked remainder of his clothing, which took only a minute since all he'd been left was his trousers, and laid a sheet smoothly over his lower body. He fingered the homemade bandage around his waist and gave a questioning glance to the tracker standing opposite him at the table.

"He was shot," Vin answered.

Shaking his head in disbelief, the healer went to work.

"What do you need me to do?" Tanner asked anxiously.

Jackson reached down to take Ezra's head in his hands. He brushed at the sweat-matted hair as he carefully touched the eye that had swollen shut and the large bruises that had blossomed across his face. He pinched at an open cut on one cheekbone before he spoke. "I'm gonna need a lot of clean hot water, fast. There's a bucket of water in the back, get it boiling then try to get me more. I need to clean the blood off him so I can see the damage. I'm also gonna need your help handling him."

Vin nodded and left the room, grateful to have something to do.

Nathan patted at the gambler's cheek. "Ezra, can you hear me?" To his surprise Standish's eyelid flickered open. Then it closed again. When he felt something bump his leg he looked down the length of Ezra's body to see fingers flexing. He put his hand over the fingers and squeezed. "It's alright, I see you. Just hang on and let me get a good look at you."

The fingers twitched again.

Nathan looked over his shoulder at Buck, who stood quietly staring. "Well, he's still with us."

Chris walked inside the clinic just in time to hear the healer's announcement.

"Where ya been, partner?" Buck asked, eyeing Chris closely as he moved slowly across the room to stand beside Ezra.

The gunfighter leaned against the table and stared down at the gambler's unmoving form. "I was just making sure the Nichols didn't follow us."

"Any sign of them?"

"Not so far, but I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them yet," he answered before he turned his attention. "Nathan?"

"He's awake, just too worn out to talk."

"Where do we start, to fix him I mean?" Buck asked as he moved alongside Chris.

_Fix him_, Nathan wondered. Yeah, he supposed that's how you'd have to look at someone with so many wounds you were spoiled for choice. He wiped a dark hand across his face. "We need to set that shoulder of his first then we'll treat the bullet wound. After that, these cuts made by that damned whip need to be cleaned out, then his feet."

Chris raised Ezra's right hand from the table. "His wrists are a mess too. That rope did its share of damage."

"How's he gonna stand all that?" Buck asked.

"Once I've had a look at him I can probably give him laudanum, but honestly I'm hopin' he'll be passed out before then."

"That's a hell of a thing to hope for."

Nathan nodded his agreement and carefully reached for Ezra's left wrist and elbow. "Let's get it done. I need to put his shoulder back in place before he tries to move around. Buck, I'm gonna need you to hold 'im for me."

The large man leaned over the gambler and held him securely between himself and the table. When Nathan manipulated the arm with a twist and a jerk a heartrending scream was torn from Ezra's raw throat. He bucked beneath the man who held him and tried to scramble off the table. Chris caught hold of his legs and pinned them down as Nathan gently folded the injured arm against his chest and began softly calling his name.

Over and over, Nathan called.

Over and over, Ezra didn't hear him as he coughed and choked on the bile rising in his throat. The pain ran through him in waves and seemed it would never end until at long last the torrent slowed and he was left gasping, reeling with a hard ache that filled his entire upper body. Then, and only then, did he hear the voice of Nathan Jackson, promising him the pain would be better soon, swearing he would be all right. Strange, he'd never thought of Nathan as a liar before.

Buck and Chris both felt the fight leave Ezra's body as tightened muscles began to surrender to tremors of exhaustion. Wilmington straightened with a reassuring touch to the side of the gambler's head. Chris tried to straighten as well, but flinched when a spasm caught him unaware. His hand shot beneath the serape he wore and pushed at the hurt in his side.

"Chris?" the ladies man called.

Larabee, realizing he'd drawn attention to himself, quickly stepped around the table and moved towards the door.

"Chris?"

"Not now, Buck," he warned.

Vin came into the room from the back carrying a large metal pan of boiling water. "Where do ya want it, Nathan?"

Jackson looked from Chris and Buck back to his patient. "Here on the stand next to me."

Vin left the water and looked down at Ezra. "I heard him yellin'; you set his arm?"

"Yeah, it was twisted up pretty bad. I'm gonna need to tie it in place, but I've gotta tend all those cuts on him first; looks like several of 'em are gonna need stitches."

"Nate, he hung on that shoulder a long time. You reckon he's gonna be able to use that arm after what they done to him?"

"I don't know, Vin. I can't know how bad it's hurt 'til he wakes up. But he dislocated the same shoulder before and it healed up just fine. There's a chance it will again."

"Yeah, but he wasn't hung and whipped before."

"I know. We'll just have to wait and see," Jackson said and went back to washing his patient.

Tanner turned to see Buck staring at Chris as Chris stared at the floor. "Somethin' goin' on?" he asked anyone who cared to answer.

Chris raised his head and moved back to sit on the dresser near the door. "Just wonderin' where JD and Josiah are."

"Probably roundin' up the last of the Nichols family."

"Any idea how many of 'em went down?" Buck asked, nearly staring a hole through the gunfighter.

"Peter Nichols is wounded, I got him in the leg," Chris said. "Josiah winged the old lady, but it didn't look too serious."

"I took out the one at the livery when I swiped the coach. He's down for good," Vin added.

"I got one of 'em in the street, and I'm pretty sure Josiah shot one outside the saloon," Nathan said as he worked to clean and dress the large holes in Ezra's stomach and back.

"That's three dead and four alive," Vin said, "plus the old woman."

Chris stood and walked to the window. "We need to get that rig outta sight and hide the horses. That family has a twisted sense of justice and they're probably still looking for Ezra."

"And you," Buck pointed out.

"Yeah, and with three of 'em dead, the ones left are liable to be a whole lot meaner," Vin stated.

"I'll take care of the coach," said Chris, reaching for the door.

"Like hell you will." Wilmington moved abruptly and bumped the hand from the doorknob.

Chris stumbled back, looking at his friend as if he'd lost his mind.

"You're the first man on their list of folks to kill. I'll take care of that armored wagon down there, you just stay here."

A look passed over Larabee's face that lay somewhere between anger and worry. There was also an instant of pain, but it passed so quickly Buck thought he might have imagined it.

"I'll be back soon. Just keep an eye out," he said in a softer voice, "and look after Ezra."

Chris looked at the gambler and suddenly felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He paled and secretly wished his hands would stop shaking. He tucked them out of sight, took a long deep breath, and frowned at Buck. "Alright, go, just watch your back."

Buck smiled, walked out the door and shut it. Once he was at the bottom of the stairs, he leaned on the building and shook his head. He hadn't missed any of the things Chris had tried to hide — the flashes of guilt and pain, the haggard look on his face and the tremors that visibly ran through his body. He was in shock and had every right to be. Ezra had been tortured, Hank had been killed, and all those memories of Sarah and Adam had been mercilessly dredged up to remind him of his past. It all sickened Buck to the point he'd personally like to go find a nice quiet place and puke his guts out, but Chris, he was trying to keep it together, remain in control. Buck doubted he could do it, but he couldn't help admire him for trying.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 7**

It took a very long time for Nathan to clean, stitch and dress the countless lacerations covering Ezra's upper body. To the healer's surprise, the muscles in his own hand had actually begun to cramp from holding a needle so long. But now that it was done he smoothed clean bandages in place and turned to gently remove the sheet from his friend's bare legs. Tell tale signs of abuse to the gambler's lower extremities became evident when the white sheet stained red from hip to knee. It was obvious the whip he'd been beaten with hadn't discriminated as to where it struck his body. Fortunately, if there could possibly be a "fortunately", the wounds were treated quickly with salve instead of needle and thread.

Nathan's worry grew as time passed. He knew for a fact his patient was completely aware of every time he'd been touched, he could feel it beneath his fingers as he'd washed and sewn him together. Despite the fact he'd been given as much laudanum as was permissible for a man in his condition, and that he should have succumbed to fatigue long before now, fine tremors and quiet gasps revealed the gambler had never once fallen asleep or passed out. It made the healer's job that much harder, but he continued his work until he was satisfied infection wouldn't take hold and once again covered Ezra's legs with a fresh sheet. He heaved a heavy sigh, rubbed his chin on his shoulder and gave Standish a sympathetic tap near his ankle.

Vin snagged a damp rag from the side table and offered it to Nathan to wipe his hands. "His feet, Nate, how do we go about gettin' all that glass out?"

"I've been thinkin' on that. We should probably soak 'em in warm water for a few minutes; some of the smaller pieces will rinse off, others we'll have to go after."

"I sure don't envy him that."

"No, but it's gotta be done pretty soon. One of his feet looks to be swellin' up and there's heavy bruisin' 'round that ankle."

"You think that's from them holdin' him down?"

"Could be, they weren't none too gentle. He's in a lot of pain and he just can't take much more handlin', not even by us."

"Why's he still awake? Why won't he just let go and sleep?"

"I reckon he thinks his job's not done yet. He went a long way to keep the Nichols from findin' Chris and Hank. He don't know half the gang is dead."

"Or that Hank is dead," Chris said, leaving his watch at the window.

"Hank's dead?" Jackson asked in surprise.

"Yeah, Peter Nichols shot him in the street while we were tryin' to cut Ezra loose," Vin explained, deciding not to bring up the fact Hank had tried to kill Chris.

"Damn, I'm sorry."

Larabee pulled a stool next to where Ezra lay and sat down. "As sick as Hank was, I suppose it was gonna happen sooner or later. Even if he was outta his head, he had a lot to answer for."

"Still," the healer began.

"Forget it. We need to see to Ezra right now. Get that hot water you need. We can move him to the end of the table to soak his feet."

"One of us is gonna have to hold him up to take the pressure off his shoulder and back."

"I'll do it," Larabee said.

Vin pulled Nathan away and motioned for him to get what he needed. Once he'd gone, the tracker moved alongside the gunfighter and put a hand to his shoulder. He felt Chris' muscles twitch beneath his fingers and knew the day was quickly catching up to him. "He's gonna get through this."

Chris took a deep breath and gave Ezra a long hard look. "I pray he does, because as soon as he's well enough I'm going to kick his ass from here to Sunday. What was he thinking messing with the Nichols like that?"

Tanner pulled back in confusion. "He was thinkin' he was protectin' you."

"Well, protectin' me got him tortured."

"Ezra knows the risks of his job, Chris."

"Protecting me is not his job."

"Don't be an ungrateful bastard, it's not like he went lookin' for a fight. He just did what Ezra does best, he conned them."

"Well, it didn't w-work," Chris stuttered. His mouth suddenly went dry and his head began to spin.

"Yes, it did, it gave us time to get Hank outta town. He had no way of knowin' the old man would come back here, half out of his mind." Vin saw his friend sway a little. "Chris?"

"I don't want him dead, Vin, not because of me."

The guilt that laced his voice caught the tracker off guard. He gripped the gunfighter's shoulder again and held tight. "I know, Chris, I know."

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Once Buck had corralled the Nichols' horses behind the livery and concealed the coach harnesses in the hayloft, he returned to where he'd stowed the armored rig and checked it for any weapons that may have been left behind. He ran a hand across its exterior before he opened the door to climb inside. The craftsmanship of the coach was truly to be admired – it was powerful, dangerous and yet strangely beautiful. Large wooden benches topped with deeply padded leather not only offered comfort for its passengers but also provided storage space for ammunition and guns. The small windows on either side and in the back were ideally positioned to shoot out while safeguarding anyone inside. It was a fortress on wheels, a masterpiece of engineering, and here it stood secreted in a barn for fear it would be used once again to destroy innocent lives.

Buck brought his mind back to the business at hand and began searching every bench and cubbyhole he could find. The rummage turned up three handguns, four rifles and eight boxes of shells. There was also a grim assortment of knives, leather straps and rope. It appeared this group had taken vengeance so close to heart they felt the need to carry their own implements of torture, each of them devoting themselves completely to the art of punishment. It was an abysmal thing that an entire family should be so lost in hatred, but sadly it wasn't the first time Buck had seen it and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

He stacked the gathered guns in a pile on the floor of the coach. When he bent down to pick them up, he spotted large smears of blood between his feet. It took several seconds for the significance of what he saw to register in his brain, but when it did intense feelings of anger began to ignite. It was Ezra's blood and the sight disgusted him. That any part of his friend should be left behind in this place was inconceivable, unbearable. He grabbed the scraps of blanket he'd torn earlier in the afternoon and tried to wipe away both the blood on the floor and the image of his friend's beaten body from his mind. His fury grew as he scrubbed, but after several minutes of intense scouring and enraged cursing, he was forced to accept there was little he could do remove either. The blood had been virtually sucked up by the wooden floorboards and the picture in his mind had been made indelible on his brain.

He slammed a fist down before he leaned back to sit on his heals, his mind racing. _God, Ezra, I'm sorry. I knew you lied to protect Chris and I knew they'd come after you when they figured out the truth. Why didn't I come back sooner? Why the hell didn't I just come back sooner? _He dragged his fingertips absently across the tacky boards and fell silent. There was nothing left to do now but catch the people who had done this. He hefted the weapons he'd collected and climbed out of the coach. The admiration he had imagined for the vehicle before was quickly replaced with feelings of revulsion. If he had his choice, he would burn the abomination to the ground, but there was no time for personal indulgence. It was time to do something about the Nichols family once and for all.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Josiah shook his head as he helped John Nichols lay on the cot inside the Four Corners jail. The little fool now had two broken arms thanks to his family's desire for revenge. Well that and his inability to move stealthily with one arm in a sling. What the hell was the young idiot trying to prove, sneaking up on him in the middle of a gun battle with more bravado than balance?

"You know, next time you come at a man meanin' to kill him, you might want to make sure you can stay on your feet long enough to see the deed done," he told the youth.

"I would've had you if those crates hadn't gotten in my way," John growled as he tried to find a comfortable position in which to lie.

"Son, those crates didn't come at you, you came at them, remember?"

Nichols turned his face to the wall as Josiah locked the jail cell door.

"Ah, problems with balance _and_ skills of observation, not good qualities for a man hunter. You just sit tight and I'll see if I can find someone willin' to fix that arm of yours."

"Get me that black healer, he did a fine job before," John ordered.

Josiah turned a look on him that was anything but preacherly. "Mr. Jackson is currently seein' to the man your family whipped and strung up on the hotel steps. I doubt very seriously he'll be of a mind to help you anytime soon."

"But he's a healer," Nichols whined. "He has to."

Josiah raised an eyebrow.

"Make him!"

"Make him? After what you did to his friend? You really want me to force him to come in here, take a hold of your broken bone and twist it back into place. You're a bigger fool than I thought. You'd be lucky if he didn't twist it right off." Sanchez knew Nathan would never deny anyone help, but the boy needed a good lesson in _what goes around comes around_. Fear could often times be a great teacher.

"It wasn't me, I didn't cut that gambler up and I didn't whip him."

Josiah winced at how easily the description of torture came to Nichols' lips, but he also knew his description of Nathan's treatment was getting to him; he could definitely detect fright beneath the condescension. "You think that's gonna matter if he can't save our friend?"

John hesitated just a moment before he said pitifully, "But… you can't just let me lay here and suffer."

Josiah was astounded by the man's overblown sense of self and complete lack of compassion for others. He rattled the cell door to make sure it was secure before he looked Nichols straight in the eye. "Yes," he said calmly, "I can." With that, he turned and walked over to throw the keys on the office desk.

JD, who'd listened to the exchange from his position near the gun rack, shared the preacher's dismay. "It's hard to believe someone so young could be so coldhearted. He's no older than me."

"Yeah, and since his brother ain't been dead that long, I doubt it's something that came over him all of a sudden. He was probably that way long before any of this happened."

Dunne nodded as he threw Josiah a reloaded rifle and grabbed another for himself. "We can't leave him here on his own. Those brothers of his might come lookin' to turn him loose."

"I'll baby-sit the brat, you go on to the clinic and meet up with the others. Let 'em know we think three of the boys got away and we're still not sure what happened to the old lady."

"Okay, I won't be gone long though." He peeked out the window before going to the door. "Looks like folks are startin' to move around out there. That's a good sign. I'll be back quick as I can."

"You just be careful and watch out for the brat's kin," Josiah said.

JD hefted the rifle in his hand and headed out the door.

TBC

A/N: Just a little nod to my very dear friend, Winnie... the next part is for you, because you do love your Chris-whump! And I want to thank you again for your continued support. So many times I've fallen into that large black hole of writer's block and you've always managed to throw me a line! Love you, girl!


	8. Chapter 8

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 8**

"Hey Buck, wait up," JD called when he saw the ladies man making his way up the clinic stairs, his arms full of confiscated weapons.

Wilmington turned, visibly relieved to see the young peacekeeper. "Glad you could make it, JD. Where've you been?"

"I'll tell you all about it inside. Need some help?"

"Yeah," Buck grunted as he handed over part of his load.

"How's Ezra? Did you get him to Nathan okay?"

"He's up there but he's in bad shape. On top of everything the Nichols did to him, he was shot."

"Shot? How?" JD asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

"It was Hank. He wandered out of the saloon and came after Chris meanin' to kill him. Ezra must have seen what he was up to because he threw himself in front of Chris when Hank fired the gun."

"My God, how much more can he take?"

"I don't know. Let's just hope Nathan can help him."

"Well where's Hank now?"

Buck shifted uncomfortably. "He's dead. The man who whipped Ezra killed him."

"And Chris, how's he doin'?"

"I think he's kinda numb, just doin' what he can to keep going. Come on, we need to get up there."

JD followed Buck up the steps, all the while scouting the area for any signs of the Nichols. The two men entered the clinic, dropped the guns in a corner and turned to see their friends gathered around the decimated body on the exam table.

Chris spoke first. "JD, you and Josiah alright?"

"We're both okay. Josiah's back at the jail keepin' an eye on our new prisoner, John Nichols."

"John?"

"Yeah, the youngest of the bunch. He broke his arm when you grabbed Hank off the street before you left. Nathan fixed him up, but now he's gone and broke his other arm."

Jackson looked up for just an instant then went back to tending Ezra.

"It's alright, Nathan. Josiah said he was leavin' it up to you whether or not you wanted to take care of him. He's fine just like he is and I think Josiah might be tryin' to make him see how stupid he's been… not that it'll do any good." JD leaned to look around the gunfighter. "Is Ezra gonna be alright?"

Chris put a hand on the gambler. "He's gonna be fine."

Nathan looked up again to stare at the gunfighter. The man spoke with such certainty even he believed it. He just hoped Ezra was listening.

"What about the rest of the family?" Vin asked.

"We're pretty sure three of them got away, probably with their ma. We haven't seen any signs of 'em, but I have a feelin' they'll be comin' back for the one we got in jail. And the way they crave revenge; I don't see 'em passing up a chance to come after those who crossed 'em," JD said, unconsciously eyeing both Chris and the man twitching beneath the healer's hands.

"No one's gettin' to Ezra," Chris stated firmly. "We watch him 'round the clock." He stood up slowly, a little too slowly Buck thought, and walked around the table.

"It's probably best if you stay here, Chris," Wilmington suggested.

"I'll stay here to give Nathan a hand then I'm goin' lookin' for the rest of that crazy family."

Vin noticed an uncharacteristic slur in his friend's speech and an alarming lack of color in his face. When he actually staggered and bumped into him, he knew something wasn't right. "Chris?"

The gunfighter didn't appear to hear his name. He simply brushed aside the hands reaching out to steady him and stepped away.

"Chris," Tanner called again.

Finally he raised his head, a dazed look on his face. "We need to keep the Nichols away from here."

"Yeah, yeah we do," Vin said warily. He glanced at Buck and saw he hadn't missed the peculiar way Chris was behaving either so he motioned for the ladies man to move closer.

The gunfighter's eyes wandered lazily to Nathan. "You ready?"

Ezra groaned as if he knew what was about to happen. Chris bent down to gather him in his arms and carefully positioned himself as a prop behind his back. He then used one hand to wrap around the gambler's waist, and the other to steady his head against his shoulder. The man was beginning to shake in earnest, but he held tight and nodded to Nathan when he was ready.

The healer pushed a bench to the end of the table and situated a large white basin of warm water on top of it. "Vin," he called over his shoulder, "you wanna take him around the knees and help Chris scoot him to me?"

The tracker continued to study Chris worriedly but moved in to help.

Dark hands took hold of Ezra's ankles and together the three men shifted him towards the basin. Giving the men in the room a look of 'here goes,' Jackson gently guided the bloody feet into the water. The instant Ezra's tattered flesh was submerged he jerked in Larabee's arms, twisted his face away and groaned pitifully against the lawman's chest.

"Easy, Ezra, easy," Chris said softly near his ear and pulled him closer.

"P-please," he answered, and the gunfighter realized it was the first word he'd spoken since he'd been shot.

Nathan continued to hold his feet under water and Ezra began to squirm.

"Please stop," he pleaded again. "H-he's gone… Chris is… gone."

"I'm right here, Ezra," Larabee replied with a conviction he didn't truly feel. There was an odd detachment building around him. His brain and body felt out of sync, as if one were slowly disconnecting itself from the other. But he stayed put and held on despite the numbness he felt creep up his arms and into his shoulders.

"No, no… Y-you won't find him." A slow, anomalous smile crept across his face and lingered there several moments before he began to frown. "Nathan?"

Jackson looked up from the basin at the sound of his name.

"Don't… don't hit him… I-I'll do what you want," he choked out. "Nathan? Oh, God… w-what are they meaning to do… knife, they've got a knife."

"Oh shit," Nathan said worriedly when he realized what his patient was talking about.

"What?" Tanner asked.

"He thinks he's back in the hotel, being cut again. Here, Vin, take over for me."

The tracker quickly stepped in as Nathan moved up the table to seize his friend's head between his hands. "Ezra, you listen to me, all right? You're safe, the Nichols are gone."

Chris felt the Southerner push against him as he tried to retreat.

"Noooo," Standish cried.

"Ezra, you have to listen to me, you're safe."

"Chris?"

"Chris is fine. I just need ya to calm down and let me help you."

"T-they'll… kill… him," he said amid panted breaths.

"No, Ezra. They're gone," Nathan insisted.

The gambler struggled to free himself but found his arms restrained and his head trapped. It slowly filtered through to his brain he was once again being pinned down, so he used the only thing left to him, his feet -- he pulled them free of Vin's gentle grasp and attempted to climb away from his captors. It was the last thing he should have ever tried. The glass shards sank deeper into his flesh as his wet feet skidded across the tabletop, and brutal stabs of pain were sent up into his legs. He bucked and screamed as the agony passed through him.

Everyone in the room moved forward as Ezra tried to escape. Nathan grabbed at his legs, Vin forced his hips down and Chris worked to keep him from leaving the table altogether. The battle to subdue him went on until suddenly his entire upper body jerked back, sending his head and elbows into the person directly behind him. Buck heard Chris respond with a sharp intake of breath and a muffled gag. The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened and what little color his face had held instantly drained away. He was in pain, real pain, and was gritting his teeth against a cry of his own. He kept one arm around Ezra but quickly relinquished the other so he could shove a fist against his side. Vin saw the move and jumped to take Ezra away from him.

Buck reached Chris just as he wrenched himself free and staggered to the footboard of the clinic bed. "Chris, what the devil is goin' on with you?" he cried.

"Nothing," he stammered, "it's nothing." He stooped at the waist, braced himself on the mattress and clutched one hand to his abdomen.

"Like hell it's nothin'!" Buck stepped beside his friend and tried to turn him. "Chris, look at me."

The gunfighter pulled away and began walking towards the door. "I'm fine, it's just a banged up rib. Take care of Ezra… I'll walk it out."

Two or three steps later, Buck saw something fall from Chris' hand and land with a dull splat on the floor.

He scooped it up and immediately recognized it as a piece of the blanket he'd torn in the coach; it was soaked through, heavy with blood. "Rib, my ass, since when do banged up ribs bleed?" he said, holding the cloth for Vin to see.

Tanner cautiously laid Ezra flat to the table and stepped aside as Nathan took over his efforts to ease the Southerner's pain. He was reaching to take what Buck was holding when he saw Chris' head fall back and his knees buckle. The two men rushed to catch him as he toppled over and crumpled to the floor.

Buck slid beneath his friend as he curled across his long legs, groaning and still trying to argue.

Vin tugged at the fist he pressed to his side. "Let me see."

Chris squinted up at him with unfocused eyes, dropped his hand and allowed the tracker to dig through the layers of clothing.

When Vin pulled the tail of his shirt up and the waist of his pants down he discovered what his friend had been hiding -- a bullet wound. "Damn, when did this happen?" He grabbed a clean towel from the stand behind him and pressed it to the gaping hole.

Events began to line up in Buck's mind and he knew exactly. "When Ezra was shot," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Hank was aimin' to shoot Chris, but when he fired, Ezra got in the way." Buck looked up at Vin in disbelief. "The bullet that went through Ezra… went into Chris."

TBC

A/N: This bit's for you, Winnie! I promised you a little Chris-abuse and I always try to keep my word. I'd love to know what everyone thinks of the story so far! Don't be shy-- talk to me!


	9. Chapter 9

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS **

**Part 9**

The numb feeling that had consumed his upper body finally reached his legs. Larabee knew it was inevitable, but he'd hoped he could have lasted until Ezra had been taken care of and declared out of danger. He understood he was being overoptimistic, but he'd had little choice but to try. The gambler was in this mess because of him and there was no way he'd let him die because Nathan had been distracted. Now Chris lay across Buck Wilmington's legs, gripping his friend's arm as wave after wave of nausea threatened to spill the contents of his stomach all over the clinic floor. He tried to smother the urge by burying his nose and mouth in the crook of his arm, but he feared it was a battle he'd lose.

Somewhere above him he could hear Vin's voice. He sounded strange, concerned. No, actually he sounded downright pissed off. Chris knew the tracker's irritation was meant to gain his attention, but for the life of him he couldn't get his head around it. All he wanted was to make sure Ezra was going to be all right. The gambler couldn't protect himself now, which meant he had to. He had to be ready to stop the Nichols clan before they tried to seek retaliation. They'd gotten Hank, shot him down in the street, and Chris knew he and Ezra were heading for the same fate if the fanatical family had their way. He had to get back on his feet.

"Buck," he said with a gasp.

"Right here, pard."

"Get… me up."

"Can't do that, just be still."

Chris felt one hand on his shoulder and another prodding his side. He attempted to jerk away but didn't get far.

"Hold still," he heard Vin order. "I need to check this out."

"Leave it," he countermanded.

"Not happenin', you danged fool. You've gone and left it too long already. Why the devil didn't you say you'd been shot?" Yep, Vin was well and truly pissed.

"Ezra…"

"Is in good hands."

"Needed to give him a chance. He's in bad shape," he answered, panting now as his vision filled with bright white flares.

"So you thought you'd bleed to death just to help him out."

"Need to keep the Nichols away from him." Oh, but he was getting sicker by the second and it didn't help that the temperature in the room felt like it had fallen by twenty or thirty degrees. His serape had somehow been taken from him and his shirt was hanging open.

Buck felt Chris shiver and unconsciously began rubbing his arm.

"Did it ever enter that self-sacrificing brain of yours that we could handle the bad guys?" Vin griped as he fussed over his friend's wound. "Damn, this is not good. Nathan!"

Jackson turned from Ezra who had fallen into an unexpected stupor beneath him. "On my way." He looked up at JD as the young man stared at the gambler on the table. "If he tries to move, hold him down, if you can't, holler."

JD nodded.

The healer crossed the floor and knelt next to Vin. "What've you got?"

"It appears Ezra and Chris have shared a bullet." He moved his hand from the gunfighter's side to reveal the nasty looking wound. "He's been hidin' it from us; looks likes he's been bleeding real heavy."

Nathan leaned over and fingered the injury, noticing the blood caked around the opening. "How's he been hidin' it?" he asked, glancing back at Ezra, still amazed at the path the bullet had taken.

Buck picked up the sopping wet blanket scrap and showed it to the healer. "With this."

"That thing's filthy."

"Yeah, I don't think he was really thinkin' about that when he snatched it off the floor of the coach. It wasn't near this bad when I wrapped Ezra with it."

Nathan shook his head. These men had a death wish, plain and simple. He reached down, pulled at Chris' shirt and ran a hand beneath him. "No exit wound," he said to himself.

"Is that good or bad?" Buck asked.

"It ain't good either way," he answered, trying to turn Larabee's face towards him. "Chris?"

" 'm alright," the blonde mumbled.

"No you're not." And to make his point Jackson pushed down on the large hole in his side. "Does that feel alright to you?"

The gunfighter groaned, loudly, as he grabbed hold of Buck's arm again.

Nathan released the pressure and reached to steady him as he rode out the pain. "I'm sorry, Chris, but damn it, you gotta listen to me. You are not all right. We've got to see about gettin' that bullet out."

When he could open his eyes again, Chris turned a determined look on the men around him. "J-just get me up."

"We will. Right up onto that table so we can go after that slug. Now shut up and be still 'til I can get things ready."

Chris gathered a fistful of Buck's sleeve in his hand and clutched it to his brow as he struggled to speak. "I have… to get up. Those men'll come af –after…" His voice faded with a moan.

Buck felt the body propped against him shudder again. "Best you just do as Nathan says, Chris. We'll keep an eye out for the Nichols; we won't let them anywhere near Ezra."

Nathan stood, looked around the room and began organizing his thoughts as to how he could best take care of two patients. Ezra's feet desperately needed to be treated before infection set in and were no doubt causing tremendous pain. Chris was currently bleeding out all over his clinic floor and needed surgery now. He would have to delegate and hope for the best.

"Vin, help JD get Ezra onto that bed. Then I want you to try again to soak his feet in the water. When you've rinsed away as much of the glass as you can I want you to take those instruments lying on the bed stand and start pulling out what's left."

Tanner noticed the doubtful look on Dunne's face. "Don't worry, JD, if I have any trouble Nathan is right here to take over." He slid his arms beneath Ezra's back and raised him up.

The youth gave a look of _b__etter you than me _and carefully took hold of the gambler's lower legs. Together they moved him onto the large bed in the corner of the room. Once they had him positioned on several pillows against the headboard, Vin leaned over and put a hand to his chest. He'd suddenly gone very still, too still, and for a moment the tracker feared the worst. He moved his hand to Ezra's nose and mouth and felt soft pants of breath. He'd finally passed out, good, maybe that would make what they had to do a little easier.

Nathan grabbed another clean cloth, folded it and placed it over the bloody hole in Chris' side. The gunfighter was visibly shaking now and leaning more heavily against Buck. Still he tried to push away the hands that were touching him.

"Leave… me," he ground out. "I can wait 'til…"

"No, Chris, you can't," Nathan answered back as he and Buck moved to either side of their friend and lifted him up.

The man went ashen the instant he left the floor. By the time he was stretched out on the table Ezra had just occupied he was white as a sheet. He swallowed hard and growled through the pain as he felt his gray shirt being taken away, his waistband loosened and someone putting a glass to his lips.

"Drink this, Chris, it'll ease the pain," Nathan said.

"No, you're not puttin' me to sleep."

"Listen to me; you don't wanna be awake for what I gotta do."

"No," he said, "g-get off. You're not keepin' me here." He tried to swing his numb legs over the side of the table but strong hands prevented him.

"Chris, stop fightin' me, I have to get that bullet out."

The blonde's voice grew dangerous. "I said no. It's not safe 'til we stop 'em… You're not druggin' me."

Buck saw the anxious look on the healer's face. "Nate, maybe we should let him have his way. He ain't gonna give in."

Jackson shook his head as Chris' fingers clawed at the wound in his side and for a moment he thought the gunfighter was going to dig the bullet out himself. He was just too stubborn for his own good.

"Let him try," Wilmington urged.

"Buck, if he moves while I'm diggin' around in there we could do him worse damage."

"W-won't… move," Chris replied.

Nathan deliberated the wisdom of what they were asking, but eventually gave in. He leaned over his patient and took hold of a bloodied hand. "Chris, are you sure?"

Green eyes, dulled with pain, softened as he nodded his consent.

"Alright, we'll try it your way, but I swear if you start moving around, one way or another I will put you out."

Chris squeezed his hand and fell back to the table. Buck caught a glimpse of uncertainty on his face as Nathan began gathering his instruments and considered suggesting his friend rethink his plan. But he knew, all too well, once the hard lines of determination had set on his face it was too late. The healer would be allowed to operate on his patient, but only under Chris' terms. Buck just hoped the gunfighter hadn't underestimated what was about to happen.

TBC

A/N: A big hug to Cassandra30 for her unwavering support, and a tip of the hat to her brother for verifying the ability of certain calibre guns to claim two victims with one shot! I knew it was possible, now I know why! You're both awesome!

Thank you to everyone who took the time to review!


	10. Chapter 10

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 10**

Josiah looked out the jailhouse window and watched as the citizens of Four Corners began sifting through the debris left by the gun battle earlier in the day. It was amazing how resilient these town folk could be and it never ceased to amaze him how ready they were to just move on and get the job done. Good people in a hard land struggling to survive, and doing so with grace and courage.

Then there were folks like John Nichols, who hadn't stopped whining since his arrival. Granted the man had two broken arms, but unlike nearly half his family he was alive. Gratitude was something he appeared to avoid. Regret and sorrow also seemed to elude him. He hadn't mentioned the loss of his brothers once, only his desire to make the peacekeepers pay for what had been done to him. It was the sheer callousness of the man the preacher detested the most. To look at the young man you would assume a quiet goodness, but his boyish looks were misleading. His heart had obviously been blackened at a young age and he was well versed in selfishness and cruelty. He'd been swearing revenge nonstop since he'd been caught and the sound of his voice was grating on Josiah's nerves.

"Son, I promise you, if you don't shut up I'll come in there and start breaking your legs," he said over his shoulder.

John ignored him and continued to fuss until the large man turned away from the window and took a step toward him. He wisely closed his mouth and looked to the floor inside his cell. Josiah sighed in relief and went to his chair behind the desk to have a seat. Just as he leaned back, he heard someone knock on the door. He pulled his gun and rested it across his lap.

"Mr. Sanchez?" a timid male voice called.

"Come in," he answered, "slowly and with your hands where I can see them."

A middle-aged man with spectacles eased around the door and entered the office. Josiah recognized him as the shopkeeper from the General Store.

"It's alright Mr. Hobson, come on in. What brings you here?"

"I was looking for Mr. Larabee."

Josiah holstered his gun. "Mr. Larabee isn't here. Can I help you with something?"

"Will he be back?"

"No time soon, there's something he had to tend to."

"Mr. Standish, you mean," Hobson said, fidgeting where he stood.

Josiah eyed him curiously. "Yes, Mr. Standish, he was hurt by the Nichols family trying…"

"Trying to protect Mr. Larabee and his kin."

"Mr. Hobson?" Josiah rose as the shopkeeper's nervousness got worse. "Are you all right?"

"He's not a bad man, Mr. Standish," he said, but Sanchez wasn't altogether sure he was speaking to him.

"Ezra has his ways, but no he isn't a bad man."

"Folks can surprise you given the chance… he sure surprised me." Again, Josiah got the feeling the man was holding this conversation with himself.

"He surprised you, Mr. Hobson?"

"At the store, those men were there, before they took him and… you know…" the shy voice drifted into silence.

Josiah watched the man absentmindedly fiddle with the buttons on his vest. "Would you like to sit down?"

Distant gray eyes looked up at him. "He tried to help, but he's paid a terrible price."

Sanchez tilted his head and waited for the man to clarify.

Clarification never came. Instead the shopkeeper wandered to within a few feet of the jail cell and asked, "He one of the men responsible?"

John Nichols looked up innocently.

"Yes, he's one of the ones who survived. We think there are three more who escaped."

Hobson's face unexpectedly shown anger and outrage as he stared at the man in front of him. "He doesn't look like much, does he?"

"Evil comes in many forms," Josiah said, still unnerved by the storekeeper's puzzling behavior.

"Yes, yes it does. But then so does good, I suppose." The man was rambling.

"Mr. Hobson, is there something I can do for you?"

The man turned his face away. "No, I was just hoping to find Mr. Larabee. I can assume that since he's taking care of Mr. Standish they're both at the clinic."

"Yes, but unless it's a matter of life or death I wouldn't go over there just yet. He'll be concentrating his efforts on protecting the town and won't be able to turn loose."

"I understand, and the rest of you?"

"You're a curious one, aren't you?

"Forgive me. It's just most everyone in town is inquiring about what happens now."

Josiah returned to his chair. "Well, tell everyone to just keep a lookout for the three brothers who escaped. Oh, and tell 'em not to take any chances if they see the old lady. I'll be wiring Judge Travis about that young'un in there. I understand he and his family fancy themselves above the law, but I have a feelin' the law fancies them otherwise. As soon as the rest of our men finish up at the clinic, we'll be searchin' this town over until we find the rest of the family."

The anger that had been visible in Hobson's face earlier was replaced by a look of intense fear. "You think they're still in town?"

"Wouldn't surprise me none so be careful when you head back to your shop."

Josiah noticed the man's hands were now shaking. "You're sure there's nothing I can do in Chris' absence."

The storekeeper swallowed nervously and took a deep breath. "No, thank you." He glanced at John Nichols again before he made for the door. "Please, tell Mr. Standish I appreciate what he did."

Josiah pulled back bewildered as he watched Hobson clench his fists and scurry out the door.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

The comforting blackness Ezra had fallen into was slipping away from him and there seemed little he could do about it. The pain he felt crawling over him was gaining ground and he wanted nothing more than to escape its reach. Hands were touching him, holding him, forcing him to submit to their will. It was happening again. He thought he'd gotten through it, that it was over, _but here he was lying on his back, his shoulders pinned to the countertop and his legs held firmly as his ankles were raised to reveal glass embedded feet. What the hell was happening? He'd done what they wanted, walked through broken glass until his feet left bloody footprints on the floor of the hotel kitchen. He remembered the nauseating pain as some of the shards sliced cleanly through his flesh while others dug deep when his own weight drove them to bone. He'd been made to suffer the trek through glass twice, but still it hadn't been enough. Now they held him down to do the unthinkable. _

"_P-please," he pleaded in abject horror. Heavy hands forced his shoulders down, but he was able to lift his head enough to look down the length of his body. "N-no," he stuttered as a large blade came into view between his feet. _

_Peter Nichols stood near the end of the counter holding the knife, relishing the look of fear filling the gambler's eyes. "I told you you'd be punished for allowing Connelly to run. You didn't believe me?"_

_Ezra's eyes grew large as the metal blade angled down to flick at the pieces of glass protruding from his feet. He could feel and hear the metal tap the glass and it sent a hundred lightning strikes throughout his body. His stomach rolled and his breath caught as he desperately tried to wriggle away._

"_I always keep my promises, gambler, and I think crippling you would be just punishment for allowing a known murderer to escape. Hank Connelly is evil, as is his protector, this Chris Larabee. I don't understand why you would so willingly suffer for these men or how you justify your own perverse sense of loyalty, but then what could I expect from a sinner such as yourself. The world should be cleansed of such wickedness and my family is the instrument by which it'll happen." He eyed the torn flesh beneath his hands with a look of pure delight._

_The Southerner was unnerved by the man's ability to so easily reconcile words of righteousness with actions of evil. "C-Chris Larabee is a man of honor. My loyalty is to him."_

_Peter ignored him._

_Ezra looked past the large goon who held his shoulders and spotted Nathan being detained by an arm around his neck and another laced through his elbows. He'd hoped the healer would have been released by now since he'd obeyed every instruction he'd been given, but it appeared the Nichols didn't feel it necessary to honor their word. He caught Nathan's eyes and held them. There was a strange comfort there, a feeling some part of him was still connected to sanity and compassion. The gentle brown eyes offered strength, so he grabbed hold of it and buried it deep inside. _

_Then the eyes changed; they widened with fear as Nathan caught movement from Peter Nichols. The man raised the knife he held and slashed it across the sole of Ezra's right foot. "Look at me!" he shouted._

_Ezra didn't look at anyone. His eyes shut tightly against the agony as his head slammed the counter and his body arced up. He cried out despite his efforts not to. Oh God, it hurt! He gasped for air, but none came, then he felt another slice with the knife and he choked._

"_I said look at me!" Peter screamed angrily._

_Ezra made every effort to pull his ankles free but couldn't. He gagged and tried to curl in on himself, but that too was denied him by the hands pinning him to the counter. _

"_Stop it!" He heard Nathan shout and knew the blade was about to fall a third time. It did, only this time it caught hold of one of the shards already buried in his arch. It snagged the jagged glass and twisted it as is continued its path across his heel. _

_Ezra screamed again and tried his damnedest to raise his head enough to look at his torturer. Wet green eyes slowly focused on Peter Nichols. "I hope… you burn… in hell."_

_Nichols smiled._

_Nathan struggled._

_Ezra collapsed._

_Then another voice penetrated the fog around the Southerner's brain, a feminine voice. "My boys do the Lord's work. It'll be you, Larabee and Connelly who'll burn in hell."_

_Dear God, Mrs. Nichols, had she been present for his torture the whole time? A woman, a mother, witnessing the slow mutilation of another human being; it was inconceivable. They were mad; all of them, completely and utterly insane and it was that realization which nearly stopped his heart. He drew as deep a breath as he could. "N-not Chris." He swallowed. "L-leave him… alone. Let Nathan go."_

"_You think you're in a position to give orders, do ya?" She hovered beside the counter and turned back to nod at Peter. Another slash of the knife across his foot sent Ezra into spasms of pain._

"_Please, ma'am," Nathan cried. "Please stop. Don't do this to him."_

_She stepped to where Jackson was being held and eyed him curiously. "You are a healer, you helped my son and I'll not forget that."_

"_Then please, stop this."_

"_I'll repay your good deed by allowing you to live."_

"_But…"_

"_No. This one will pay for his own actions. You, however, will be allowed to return to the others. You will carry a message to Chris Larabee and tell him I expect Hank Connelly to be turned over to me immediately."_

"_He won't do it, especially if you kill Ezra."_

"_Oh, trust me, healer, he will do it."_

"_How can you think he'd give up Hank if you kill his friend?"_

_She gave him a look that set him back a step. "Don't you be frettin' about the how; just see to it Chris Larabee gets the message."_

"_Don't cut him again, please."_

"_Shall I put a bullet in his brain then?"_

"_No," Nathan said, stunned by her coldness._

"_Then you will do as you are told."_

_There was simply no reasoning with her. "Let me talk to Ezra," he said, careful to keep defiance out of his voice. "Please."_

_She looked him up and down before she motioned for her son to release him. "You have one minute."_

_Jackson hurried to where the gambler lay and stared down the animal grasping Standish's shoulders until he was allowed access. "Ezra, can you hear me?"_

_Weary eyes opened. Ezra jerked away but soon settled when he realized who was there. "Nathan?"_

"_Yeah, I need you to listen to me, Ezra. I want you to hang in there, all right? I want you to hang on with all you got." Jackson leaned down and lowered his voice before he said, "I'm goin' to get Chris and the others but you gotta be here when I get back, so fight. Can you do that?"_

_The Southerner shook his head._

"_Ezra, I need ya to hang on 'til I get Chris. Tell me you can do it."_

_Nathan pulled back to look into his friend's watery eyes. Eventually he nodded._

"_Good. We'll get you outta this, you hear me?"_

"_That's enough," Mrs. Nichols barked. _

_When Nathan hesitated in leaving Ezra, one of the ham-fisted boys pounded him in the back with both hands and sent him to the floor. He was then roughly pulled to his feet and shoved towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder to take a last look at his friend. The sight tore at his soul. He knew full well the butchery would continue with or without his presence so he had to get to Chris. Ezra was staring after him, pleading with his eyes for Nathan to save him, but there was nothing he could do. Then Peter Nichols moved to Ezra's head and leaned over to whisper something near his ear. The gambler's eyes went wild as Peter moved back to his feet and again raised the knife. The last thing Nathan heard as he was pushed outside was Ezra screaming his name._

"Nathan!" Ezra yelled. Why was this happening? Hadn't he already been through this? He had, he knew he had. He'd been hanging somewhere, tied up and placed on display. Every inch of him hurt, every part of him begged for relief. But his feet, they were slicing his feet open again. "Nathan!" he screamed again. "N-no, please don't cut… again. Chris! You were going… to get Chris."

Nathan turned away from the exam table where Chris had just been placed and looked at the bed holding Ezra. Vin and JD were both grabbing on to him as he tried to get away. They had no sooner gotten his feet into the warm water than he again began reliving the nightmare in the hotel. He'd been struggling with the memory before, but now he seemed firmly trapped in its nightmarish horror.

Chris tried to leave the exam table. Buck put a hand to him to make sure he stayed put as Nathan went to the Southerner's side and tried once again to free him from his torture.

"Ezra!" he called. "I'm right here, it's Nathan."

"Nathan d-don't, don't get Chris… they'll kill him."

"No one's killin' Chris. You hear me?"

"They're gonna do it! I can't… stop them." A dark cloud passed over the gambler's face as his mind returned him to the cruelty of his captors. "They're coming… again. This time… they said… they'd do it… this time."

"No, Ezra, no one's comin' for ya."

"Don't, don't!" he pleaded hoarsely as he sucked in large panic stricken breaths. His chest heaved four or five times before he strangled on a cough and fell backwards.

Nathan watched helplessly as Ezra trembled and pressed himself against the pillows. He desperately struggled to breathe but his fatigue seemed just as determined to smother him. Then from nowhere, his battle lessened and an eerie calmness gradually consumed his entire body. "Come on now," the healer said encouragingly. "I need you to stay with me."

"Oh, God, Nathan… they did it… I c-can't… can't feel," he slurred, "they did it."

"What, Ezra? What did they do?"

He didn't answer. Instead his eye drifted shut and his head dropped awkwardly onto the pillow.

"Ezra?" Jackson cried as he scrambled onto the bed and lightly tapped his friend's face. "Ezra, wake up!"

TBC

A/N: Okay, I researched the hound out of the Magnificent 7 canon for the episode VENDETTA and I never could find the name of or the background for the storekeeper Ezra saved from the Nichols. I've given him a name (and probably a wife... /evil grin/ ) for story purposes so I hope no one faults me. I've also chosen the layout of the town mapped out at http://freepages.genealogy. for the story, so everyone can see I'm using Bucklin's General Store instead of Mrs. Potter's. If you'd like the exact map addy, just drop me a line-- it's a terrific piece of work!

Please let me know how this chapter reads! JMck


	11. Chapter 11

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS **

**Part 11**

"Damn," Nathan said, his voice full of worry as he slapped the gambler's face harder. "Don't do this Ezra, wake up."

Vin crawled onto the bed behind the gambler and put his hand on Nathan's arm. "What is it? What's wrong?"

The healer pulled back the light blanket covering his patient's body and leaned over to rest an ear against his chest. He found the heartbeat but grimaced when he realized it wasn't beating as strongly as it should. Ezra's respirations were also sluggish and his skin was entirely too cool to the touch.

"Nate…"

"His body's havin' a hard time dealing with what it's been through, it's tryin' to give out."

Chris rose up off the table and pushed aside Buck's restraining hands. "What do we do?" he asked tightly.

Nathan glanced over his shoulder. "Ain't nothin' you can do, Chris. Buck, get him back on the table and keep him there."

Larabee opened his mouth to argue but Wilmington leaned into him and physically moved him away. 

Jackson bent down to take the unconscious gambler in his arms. "Vin, yank those pillows outta there."

"But Nathan, his shoulder," JD warned.

"He ain't feelin' his shoulder, JD. Now go over there and get me another blanket." Carefully he lowered Ezra to the mattress. "Vin, I need ya to loosen the sling holdin' his arm."

Vin did as Nathan instructed as the healer took the cover from JD and gently tucked it around Ezra's unmoving body. He placed his slender fingers against his throat and felt for a pulse… weak, but there. He moved his other hand beneath his patient's nose and waited until he could just feel the shallow exhalations brush his skin. 

"Nathan?" Chris asked hoarsely.

"Don't know," was the clipped reply as Nathan sat on the bed and began checking Ezra's bullet wound. He eyed the point of entry carefully before he pulled the motionless body toward him and had Vin check the exit wound.

"There's a little blood, but it looks okay," the tracker advised.

"Good, can you put another bandage against it for me?"

Tanner carefully worked a small piece of folded cloth beneath the wrapping around Ezra's waist and then helped Nathan settle him back onto the mattress. 

"What now?" he asked.

"Now we wait. I seen this before. We need to keep him warm and when he wakes up we need to keep him still."

"That's it?"

"You might try talking to him, but keep your voice calm and quiet."

"What about his feet?" asked JD.

"Every time we handle his feet, the pain puts him back with the Nichols. We need to let him recover some before we put him through that again."

"Can we give him more Laudanum?"

"Afraid not, any medicine right now could kill 'im. You've cleaned away a lot of the dirt; let's just hold off 'til this spell passes."

Vin settled close to Ezra on the bed. "He will come outta this, right?"

Jackson went to a basin to wash his hands.

"Nate?"

"He's been through a lot," Nathan answered as he dried his hands.

"Yeah, but its Ezra, he's tough," JD said.

"He's been tortured, JD, they didn't just cut him up and whip him, they messed with his head. Did you hear him? 'This time', 'this time they'd do it.' They must've threatened him with somethin' they knew would scare the hell out of him."

"What do you think it was?"

"Got no way of knowin', but Ezra's mind ain't lettin' it go."

"He'll handle it," the young man insisted.

Nathan saw the fear in JD's eyes and realized how important Ezra had become to him. In fact, every face in the room held the same look of apprehension and he knew every man present would do whatever it took to keep him alive.

"He'll handle it," JD repeated, not sure if he was trying to convince Nathan or himself.

Grabbing the edge of the table, Chris dragged himself onto his side. "And if he can't, we'll help him. Believe it, JD."

Dark eyes glistened brightly as JD accepted Chris' words as truth. 

The room fell silent.

"We need to make sure," Chris said around a swallow, "the Nichols are caught. We have to f-find them." He tried his best to pull his way up Buck's arm, but he simply didn't have the strength. He fell back onto the table cursing between pants.

Nathan moved quickly to his side. "Come on, Chris, you ain't goin' nowhere. We're gonna go after that bullet in your gut then you're gonna rest."

The gunfighter would have disagreed, but he didn't seem able to draw in a decent breath. He patted Buck's hand to get his attention. "Send JD back to the jail… Josiah may need help."

"You're right, I've got a feelin' those boys'll come after their brother next," Buck agreed. "JD, you think you can get back to Josiah without any trouble?"

"Sure, Buck."

"Well, do it. And the two of you keep an eye out. As soon as we've helped Nathan take care of Chris and Ezra, one of us'll be over to lend you a hand. We need to see about movin' Nichols some place out of his family's reach. Then we need to go after the three who escaped before they come back here lookin' to shoot up the town again."

"What about Mrs. Nichols, Buck?"

"She ain't gonna be far from her boys -- we catch them, we catch her. Now you head on out and be careful."

"I will. And you won't let anything happen." He motioned to Ezra and Chris.

"Count on it," he said firmly and moved to the door to insure JD's safe departure.

TBC

A/N: There are Chris fans and there are Ezra fans, but what I find interesting is how many Chris AND Ezra fans there are. They're my favorites together with a little dash of Buck and Vin. Let me know who your favorites are. Thanks to all who reviewed!


	12. Chapter 12

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS **

**Part 12**

"Chris, let us give you something for the pain. You ain't helpin' Ezra by sufferin'." Buck captured his friend's hand as it grabbed for something to hold on to.

"No," Chris grunted, squeezing the fingers he found. "They're still three of them on the loose. They'll be comin' back… If they find him, t-they'll kill him."

"I got news for ya, pard, you're no safer than Ezra if those boys decide to show up."

"I'm conscious… he's not. I'm stayin' that way 'til…"

"'Til when? You're hurt bad and you need to let Nathan take care of you. I don't think he fancies cuttin' into your belly while you're still able to pitch yourself off the table."

"C-can't let 'em get to Ezra… he's paid too high a price… already."

"And you can protect him how?" Buck asked. "Look at you; you can't even protect yourself right now."

"Damn it, Buck… just keep me awake and hand me my gun." Chris' breathing was becoming more and more labored but he wouldn't stop glaring until his weapon lay next to him on the table.

Nathan raised the clean cloth pressed over the gunfighter's wound and saw fresh blood soak it through. "We have to get this bullet out now," he warned.

"Do it," Chris ground out between clenched teeth.

Buck looked at the healer helplessly and nodded in defeat as Nathan spread surgical tools on a clean towel near his friend's head.

Larabee laid back and listened to the rattle of metal instruments as he tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes. Buck saw the pitiful attempt and reached for a damp cloth to gently wash away the moisture that had gathered around his eyes, cheeks and upper lip. He leaned close and asked softly, "You really wanna do this?"

Chris' eyes burned with determination as he jerked his chin downward to signal he was ready. In truth, he wasn't sure at all, especially when he felt Nathan's cool hands push against his skin in an effort to judge the width of the wound. The sheer anticipation of what was about to happen nearly did him in. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the hand he held, when the healer inserted a slender metal probe into the hole in his abdomen he couldn't ignore it. The instrument sank deeper and deeper until it finally reached the bullet, and when metal touched metal the sensation sent convulsive pain past his brain and into every muscle of his body.

Buck bent down, dried his face again and deliberately blocked his view of what Nathan was doing. It was bad enough he was going to feel the surgery; he sure as hell didn't need to see it. He peeked over his shoulder as Jackson picked up a scalpel and held it just above the open wound. The dark man mouthed the words "hold him" and prepared to make the incision he needed to allow better access to the bullet. Buck turned his attention to Chris and discreetly held him down under the guise of wiping his face and neck.

Chris didn't really notice the weight on top of him until Nathan pressed the surgical knife into his flesh and cut across the bullet hole. He growled and tried to rise. Buck shifted, let go of his hand and laid a forearm across his chest.

Nathan felt the muscles beneath his fingers twitch and tighten as Chris instinctively drew his knees up. This was ridiculous, how the devil did he think he could do this with his patient wound so tight he was about to snap. "Vin," he called without turning, "how's Ezra doin'?"

The tracker reached under the blanket covering the gambler's body and put a hand to his chest before he leaned down to listen to his breathing. The heartbeat beneath his palm felt sluggish and the warm respirations against his cheek were uneven. "'Bout the same, I think. Still shiverin' like he's cold."

"Damn, I need you over here so you can hold onto Chris."

Larabee heard the request. "N-no."

Jackson decided to play the guilt card. "I don't have a choice. You won't let me put you out and I need those legs of yours still."

"I w-won't move."

"You can't help it. Every time I go for the bullet your body buckles. Now either let me give you somethin' for the pain or Vin's gonna have to hold you down. We'll try to keep an eye on Ezra from here," Nathan replied, praying the gunfighter would see sense.

Vin caught the look in Jackson's eyes and knew what he was up to. "Should I be away from him, Nate? What if somethin' happens? He's shakin' real bad."

"Damn, he must be gettin' worse, but I gotta have help here."

Buck straightened and stared at the two behind him.

Chris raised his head and watched the tracker pull the blanket over the gambler and move to the side of the table. "N-no don't…"

Vin pushed his knees down and leaned over them. "Alright, let's do it."

Buck eyed Ezra anxiously. "Nate?"

"We don't have a choice."

"But…"

Chris tried to roll himself off the table. "D-don't leave him."

"Hold still," Nathan said as he snatched a bare shoulder slick with sweat. "Listen to me, Chris, maybe we can compromise. Vin can stay with Ezra if you let me give you somethin' to take the edge off."

Larabee eyed him suspiciously.

"It won't knock you out, but maybe it'll relax you enough to let me do what I gotta do." Jackson watched the lawman think it over. "It's that or you're forcing me to risk Ezra bein' on his own."

"No," he answered sharply, gripping the healer's arm in turn.

"Okay then, let me get what you need and Vin can help Ezra."

Chris' agreement was nearly inaudible but he let go and silently waited for Nathan to fetch whatever it was he'd been blackmailed into taking. Tanner, seeing there would be no more argument, hurried back to the bed and began talking to the gambler in a low, soothing voice.

When Nathan returned with a cup of tea, he held the concoction to Chris' lips and waited for him to take a sip. "Drink, I promise it'll just help you relax."

Chris frowned.

"I wouldn't trick you, Chris. I won't mess with you unless you mess with me. Now remember our deal and we all just might make it through the night."

Larabee studied Nathan's face and decided he could trust him. He downed the bad tasting liquid and pushed the cup away when he finished. Damn, but it was nasty stuff.

Buck smiled to himself, grateful his friend had consented to some relief before the surgery. He cooled the rag he held in the basin of water, wrung it out with one hand and draped it across Chris' brow. The man was dog-tired but he wasn't giving in, he kept blinking his eyes in a stubborn attempt to remain clear-headed. Buck knew he desperately needed an anchor so when Larabee's trembling hand touched his arm, he quickly gathered it in his own and held tight.

Nathan checked on Ezra while he waited for the herbs he'd given Chris to take effect. Despite what the gunfighter had been told Ezra appeared to be gradually getting past the threat of shock. There was however a new danger rearing its ugly head – fever. He'd known from the beginning infection was inevitable; now it seemed he was right. The gambler's body was struggling against the contamination of its wounds and his condition would likely get worse before it got better. He instructed Vin to watch him closely and moved to stand alongside Buck. He nudged the tall cowboy with his elbow and whispered, "Talk to him." Then he aimed the forceps he picked up from the towel towards the large hole in Chris' belly.

"Just hang in there, pard," Buck said. "Nathan'll have you fixed up in no time."

Chris peered into the blue eyes hovering above him and tried to smile, but the expression twisted into a grimace when he felt the cold pressure of metal once again enter his body. The medicine he'd been given must have kicked in because he was unable to move his hips or raise his knees when he felt the need. His arms and shoulders also grew weaker and he was about to accuse Nathan of lying to him about the medicine when he felt the instrument in his body plow deeper. No, Nate hadn't lied… he was still very conscious. He felt a foolish grin pull at his lips as he appreciated the fact his trust in the healer hadn't been misplaced.

Buck caught the look and wondered if the pain was too much to bear. "You okay, buddy?"

Chris took a deep breath and nodded. The intrusion in his belly seemed to have a direct effect on his ability to speak… pain gets stronger, teeth clench tighter. When he felt Nathan push harder he nearly shattered every tooth in his head.

Buck heard the gunfighter gag. "Go ahead and yell if you need to."

He was about to take his advice when he heard a sound… a sound that shouldn't have been there, a sound that was just outside his own grunts and groans. He turned his head in search of the noise and saw a shadow near the window. The sun had just gone down, and even though the dusky dark could play tricks on a person, he knew without a doubt someone was there. He squeezed Buck's hand tighter to get his attention. Buck simply squeezed back. He tried to rise, to reach for his gun, but his muscles had gone flaccid. It was happening, the one thing that terrified him most; the Nichols gang had come back and he was unable to protect his men.

Nathan continued to dig inside his body, completely focused on his work, but he had to stop him and get his attention. They had to see the danger. He took a deep breath and forced his lips apart. "Nngghhooo," he finally spat out as he pushed against the weight on his chest.

Buck felt him twist and finally glanced down. The look on Chris' face stopped him cold. He'd seen that look many times in the past and knew in an instant something was wrong. He didn't hesitate to raise a warning. "Nathan," he called. "Stop what you're doin'."

The healer didn't look up. "Not now, Buck, I'm havin' trouble holdin' on to the damn thing."

Chris groaned and pleaded with the man on top of him without having to say a word.

"Nathan, you have to stop now," Buck said.

Jackson heard the alarm in Wilmington's voice and pulled his bloody fingers from the body wriggling under his hands. "What is it?"

Larabee stared at the window and again saw the shadow cross it. A second later, he heard a scraping sound.

"Something's got him upset," Buck said, stroking a hand across Chris' forehead as the gunfighter strained to look around him.

"Well yeah, Buck, we're trying to dig a bullet from his gut while he's still awake. I'd say he has every reason to be upset, but it's his own choice."

"It ain't that."

The gunfighter jerked and the atmosphere in the room changed. The hairs on the back of Nathan's neck stood up and he suddenly understood Buck's meaning. He'd learned long ago to trust the instincts of his leader and right now Chris' body language was screaming trouble. There was definitely something else going on.

"Chris," Nate said gently, resting a hand on his patient's chest. "Chris, take a deep breath and tell us what's got ya so worked up."

Larabee took a long breath and exhaled slowly before he could force intelligible words past his lips. "Someone's… outside."

"It's alright, you're just in a lot of pain and the medicine is…"

"No… saw someone," he insisted. "Heard them."

Buck kept a firm hand around Chris' wrist as he tried to get a better look. "I didn't hear anything."

"Well I did," Vin said, watching the window and shuffling backwards off the bed. "He's right, someone's outside." He grabbed the gun lying on the bedside table and ran to the door.

Chris dragged his free hand weakly from his chest to his side and fumbled for his weapon. This time he managed to loosely grip it as he rolled over to lean against Buck. The room seesawed around him as bright flares ignited behind his eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath and waited for the brightness to dim; unaware Buck had turned him loose and his own fingers now had a death grip on Wilmington's arm. "G-go help Vin," he wheezed.

A disembodied voice said, "I do that and you'll find your ass on the floor."

Chris tried to scoot one leg off the table.

"Un-unh, pard, just sit still, there's no way you're climbin' down from there."

A hand crept around his back and hauled him to where he started. The brilliant lights slowly faded and the room around him stilled, but before he could celebrate the return of his sight he felt a ripping pain slice through his belly and a disconcerting queasiness swell in his throat. He lowered his eyes to the wound in his stomach and saw a white bandage clinging to him, his own blood apparently serving as the adhesive. It was a chilling sight, and one he could have definitely done without since it raised his nausea to a whole new level, but he couldn't seem to ignore it.

Buck felt Chris sag against him and knew he was about to cave in. He adjusted his hold to keep the gunfighter from toppling to the floor and called to Nathan. "Anything?"

Jackson had strategically placed himself between Ezra and the door and stood ready to defend should the Nichols try to enter the clinic. His jaw set, his back went rigid and a gun appeared in his hand. It was clear no one would get past him. He stayed that way, without so much as the movement of breath, until he saw Tanner come running back up the stairs. "Vin?"

"Chris was right, there was someone out there. I heard 'em hit the bottom steps as I went out but I lost 'em in the dark."

"Damn," Buck said, "had to be the Nichols."

Vin nodded, shut the door behind him and went back to the bed to sit beside Ezra. He kept his gun close, never taking his eyes off the window.

Chris shifted against Buck, still clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping him conscious. "We have to catch them."

Wilmington turned, pulled Chris' hands away and reached to take him bodily in his arms. "We will, buddy, we will. Now let's get you on your back so Nathan can finish up."

Chris offered no resistance as the tall cowboy hefted him up and carefully lowered him flat onto the table. Despite his best efforts, he was growing weaker and the feeling terrified him. He had to be ready to fight. So many times in the past he'd failed to shield those he cared about – Sarah, Adam. Even Hank had suffered because of him. Now they were all dead and here he lay useless.

Buck felt his chest tighten when he saw the play of emotions crossing Chris' face. He'd seen that look before and knew exactly what was going through his mind. "Don't do this, Chris. Ain't none of this your fault."

Sad green eyes turned away.

"I won't let nothin' happen to you or Ezra."

Chris finally faced the gentle mustached face and nodded. He was about to say something but clamped down on the words when he felt Nathan's hands on his belly again.

"Easy now," Buck said when he saw Nathan reinsert the slender metal instrument into the bullet hole. Blood poured freely at an alarming rate but the healer merely wiped it aside and kept digging.

Larabee jerked beneath the pressure of his ministrations and groaned. "Buck," he called. "Please… don't…"

"Don't what?"

"Don't… let me… pass out," he answered in short gasps.

"Just let go, Chris. Don't fight it."

"Buck…" Chris sucked in a painful breath and blinked his eyes again.

"It's alright," Wilmington answered. "Ol' Buck's gonna watch your back. Just let go."

Heavy eyelids fluttered lazily before they finally closed and Chris' world slowly fell away.

TBC

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter and sent me private emails... seems like Chris and Ezra are neck and neck as favorites, with Buck and Vin coming in close behind!

For some reason this chapter was a beast to write... Please let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS **

**Part 13**

_Chris stumbled through the darkness feeling the chill of night leech every bit of warmth from his body. He was tired, both bone weary and mentally exhausted, yet he knew he had to keep walking until he reached the orange glow beckoning him in the distance. Little by little he made his way across the desert, tripping over dry rocky earth and yanking free of the clawing brush that snagged his pant legs. Time passed painfully slow as he defied his body's desire to give in, to collapse on the ground and pull the night into himself, but his heart crushed any plans his body made. There was someone who needed him and he'd be damned if he was going to fail another living soul. _

_The glow grew larger with each clumsy step. It also grew more visually intense as the muted orange of a moment ago became a striking array of vivid reds and yellows. After that there was the heat, inviting at first then overwhelming as tall flames reached out into the night seemingly to ensnare him. His aching limbs welcomed the warmth, but there again his heart overcame his body's need and forced him to skirt the edges of the blaze as he neared a cavernous hole filled with flame. _

_He looked into the pit of fire and momentarily entertained the thought of throwing himself in. Some part of him craved the release it offered, but he ultimately found the cowardice of such an act so distasteful he decided against it. He narrowed his eyes against its intensity and searched its borders for the person he knew he'd find. There not twenty feet from him, Ezra stood, hunched over, arms bound behind his back and bare feet touching the very rim of the burning crater. His lean form shook with fatigue, or fear, or a combination of both, and when Chris caught his eyes with his own he saw hopelessness and despair. It was as if the heat from the pit below was sucking the life from the Southerner and he had to do something to stop it._

"_Ezra!" he shouted above the crackling of the fire below. "Don't move!" _

_The gambler's haunted eyes stared at the flames as they snaked their way from the pit and licked at his feet. The desire to move away was evident, written all over his face, but his body wouldn't oblige. Instead, one foot slid closer, actually curling over the edge. Large tears filled his eyes as they stared blindly into the fire. "You can't save me," he said with a husky voice as he choked on heavy black smoke. _

_The gunfighter clambered over ash-covered rock. "I can, Ezra, just don't go any closer."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Nothing to be sorry about, just stay put. I'm almost there," Chris answered with a grunt as his foot slipped off a slippery stone._

"_I didn't know he'd come back."_

"_I know you didn't, just hang on. I'm almost…there."_

_Chris cleared the rocky perimeter ringing the well of flame and stood within ten feet of the man he meant to save. It was then he heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked. He searched the smoky haze surrounding Ezra's head and caught the glint off the barrel of a gun, his own gun. His eyes followed the barrel to the hand of Hank Connelly and he unconsciously stumbled back when he saw the look on his father-in-law's face. Fury, betrayal and revenge filled Hank's being and Chris knew it was every bit aimed at him despite the gun being held to the gambler's temple._

"_Hank, what are you doing?"_

"_Just giving you what you want."_

"_What I want? I don't want this, Hank, let him go."_

"_And deny you the joy of seeing someone you supposedly care about burning in the fires of hell?"_

"_What are you talking about? I don't want this. I never wanted this. Just put the gun down and let's get the hell out of here."_

"_No," Connelly said, forcing the gambler to lean over the pit._

"_Hank, don't do this. Shoot me if you want, but let him go!" _

_The old man's face cracked a smile that turned Chris' stomach. It was a smile of madness, which came dangerously close to resembling evil. In an instant, Hank turned the gun from his original target and pointed it towards him. It exploded, adding its own little puff of smoke to the fire's larger cloud and sending a bullet straight into Chris. The impact doubled him over and sent him to the ground. _

"_Say goodbye, Chris Larabee, to another lost soul," Hank said, laughing. _

_Before the wounded man could gather his wits, Connelly had Ezra by the neck and shoved him over the rim of the crater. Chris watched helplessly as the Southerner twisted just enough to reveal a face filled with terror, then screamed as he fell from view into the raging inferno below._

_Chris fumbled to cover his stomach with his hand as he rolled over and scrambled to the rim of the deadly blaze. The expression on Ezra's face lingered in his mind as he sought the hungry flames for any signs of his friend's remains. But he was gone, burning at the bottom of the cauldron beneath him. He pulled away from the hole and dropped to the ground, curling around both the wound in his belly and the ache in his soul. _Not again, it couldn't happen again. _Then he heard the sound of boots near his head and knew Hank was standing close. He turned his sight upwards into the troubled eyes of his wife's father._

"_Yes, again," Hank said hoarsely as he knelt down, raised the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger._

_Chris watched in horror as the gun blast blew away half the man's head and knocked his body backward into the dirt. He raised bloody hands to his face and cried out in mind numbing pain._

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

"No!! Chris cried as he tried to bury his head deeper into folded arms. His brain was so full of unbearable memories he felt it would explode. He squeezed his head between his elbows and tried to force away the horrifying images of Sarah, Adam, Ezra and Hank. He was certain his mind was surrendering to his conscience as vivid pictures of fear and death flooded his soul. It was finally happening, he was losing the battle he'd fought for so long and it was clear his sanity lay forfeit. Like Hank, he would fall into madness. Perhaps that was the best he could hope for, to drift away from reality and lose himself in a world of delusion and indifference. He thought of how it would be to live without the ache in his heart and the remorse in his soul. At the moment it was the most tempting prospect he'd ever known. But as seductive as it was he knew at his very core a life of apathy was not what his family and friend had bequest. He owed them the memory of their importance in his life and that meant he had to fight. Unfortunately, fighting meant more pain and already the agony in his skull had grown so severe he feared it may be too late. In desperation, he began clawing at his head. He _would_ fight. If he had to physically remove each terrifying memory with his bare hands, he would do it.

_Please, God, let me do it. _

_Give me the strength to end it._

_Just make it…_

"Stop… make it stop!" he screamed until he could actually feel his own voice push away the threat of madness. He would stay in his own head, suffer his own past and gladly remember those he'd cared about and loved no matter the price.

"Chris!" a voice called from the distance, its tone defined by its urgency.

He was so startled by the sound, he couldn't help but listen.

"Come on, Chris, let go!"

Strong hands grabbed at his wrists and pulled them away from his head. He fought back, tried to loosen the hold, but whoever had him was determined in their labor to break through. He pushed his assailant to arm's length hoping to create enough room to defend himself with his legs, but the moment he raised his knees his middle was seized with crippling pain. His body jerked hard as his lungs sucked for air.

"Chris, settle down," the voice shouted.

A deep, hacking cough took hold of him and any chance for escape was gone. He fell back, drained, surrendering to whatever the fates had planned. His entire body burned, most likely from being too near the flaming pit, and every muscle twitched out of control. "Stop," he muttered in a last ditch effort to save himself, "p-please stop…"

"Easy, Chris," the voice said softly, "you're all right; just settle down." The strong hands, still firmly gripping his wrists, pulled his fists together and held them to his chest.

He took another harsh breath and listened to the reassuring tone hanging above him. Repeatedly the voice spoke promises of safety but it wasn't until the hands let go he believed it. An oppressive heat still clung to him but as the agonizing pain in his belly subsided to a more manageable level, he felt the flames within lessen. A cool hand came to rest on his forehead and he heard the voice say, "Easy, that's it. Don't try to do anything right now except breathe." A moment passed before the voice spoke again but this time it didn't seem to be addressing him. "He's gettin' real warm, what d'ya think?"

Another hand, colder than the one before, touched his cheek. "You're right; fever's startin' to take hold. I figured it would seein' he left that wound so long without treatin' it. Now I've got two patients in trouble."

A heavy sigh preceded a long pause and then a sloshing sound came within inches of his head. "Bathe him. Keep him as cool as ya can. And try to wake him enough to get some of this tea down him."

A groan sounded nearby.

"You go," the first voice said. "I'll take care of him." Footsteps walked away, and then the hands were on him again. "Chris?"

The gunfighter tried to swallow but there was so little moisture in his mouth he couldn't manage it. He pressed his lips together and nearly whimpered when he couldn't even muster enough saliva to wet them with his tongue.

"Easy there, pard," the voice said just before something soft was pressed against his mouth.

A damp rag dabbed at his lips several times before it moved over the rest of his face. When it washed away the crustiness around his eyes it dawned on him he hadn't tried to open them. Perhaps now that they didn't feel as if they'd been glued shut he could manage to crack them enough to see who was wiping his neck and arms. Concentrating his attention on his eyelids, he finally felt them flutter open and saw a large dark silhouette, backlit by daylight, looming over his upper body.

He heard the gentle voice begin to mumble words of worry. When he realized the concern was meant for him he made an effort to reassure whoever was there he was fine. He tried to lick his lips again and drew a careful breath, then relaxed and tried to speak. The words he'd chosen in his mind left his mouth a garbled mess, but at least whoever was fretting over him stopped rubbing his skin with that cold rag and came closer for him to see. It took several seconds to focus on the face beaming down, but when he saw who it was he felt an overwhelming relief wash over him.

"B-Buck?" he asked, making sure he wasn't dreaming.

A hand came to the side of his head and moved it just a little so he was actually facing his friend and not the dark blob, presumably a piece of furniture, over his shoulder. A wide grin greeted him as he clearly made out the man's features. "Yeah, pard, it's me," Buck said, a nervous chuckle betraying his fear. "How do ya feel?"

The gunfighter thought about it for a second. "Like hell. What happened?"

"You passed out while Nathan was diggin' for that slug you caught."

A look Buck had seen many times crossed Chris' face.

"I know you're pissed we didn't keep you awake, but I reckon your body had other plans."

"Ezra!" Larabee cried as memory returned. He tried to pull away from the well-meaning cowboy and get off the cot he'd been laid on, but Buck's hands were instantly, and successfully, pushing him back to the thin mattress.

"Whoa there, he's right here."

"I-I heardhim screaming," Chris said, his brain still fuzzy.

"You probably did, Nathan and Vin worked on those feet of his for a long time," Buck replied, looking sadly over at the man on the bed.

Chris followed his friend's gaze and caught sight of Ezra, looking very small amongst the large number of pillows and blankets piled around him. His face was drawn and pale in the afternoon light and the dark chestnut hair matted to his forehead emphasized how completely drained of life he was. Dark circles beneath his eyes attested to the gambler's lack of sleep and the convulsive twitches in his arm and legs, visible even from where he lay, bore evidence as to how much pain he felt despite being unconscious.

"H-how bad?" he asked.

Wilmington tore his eyes from Ezra and set about rewetting the cloth in his hand.

"Buck, how bad?

The ladies man reached the cloth to Larabee's brow, but Chris weakly grabbed the arm in his face and moved the rag away. "Tell me."

Buck hadn't wanted to add to the guilt his friend had assumed, but knew he couldn't keep Ezra's condition a secret. "One of his feet wasn't cut too deeply. Nathan pulled the glass out without much trouble and stitched up the worst gashes."

"And his other foot?"

"His right foot was hurt worse. The glass pieces were larger and deeper. Some were broke off inside and Nathan had to cut into him to get 'em out. The knife wounds were… more vicious, and…"

Chris waited for Buck to finish.

"And his ankle's broken."

"Broken? I thought they used a bottle and a knife. How did his ankle get broken?"

"It must have happened after I left," Nathan said bleakly as he entered the room from the back and moved to Ezra's bedside. He felt the gambler's face and checked his eyes before he shook his head and took up a seat next to Buck. "I suspected it was broke when you brought him in."

"But how?"

"From the looks of the bruising on his lower leg, I'd say it was stomped. I found marks on him shaped a lot like the heal of a boot."

"Stomped?" Chris repeated angrily as he sat up on the cot, this time roughly shoving Buck's groping hands aside. "To stomp a man you have to have him on the floor. You mean after they mutilated his feet, they dumped him in the floor and deliberately stomped on him?"

Nathan rose from his chair and pushed on the gunfighter's shoulders trying to keep him from leaving the cot. "Chris, sit down before you bust those stitches I put in ya!"

"So help me, when I catch those bastards…" He was so angry he couldn't see straight, but anger could only carry him so far before he began to shake beneath the healer's hands and dropped back onto the cot. He reached out to grab at Buck's shoulder to steady himself before he tilted forward.

"Just keep still, Chris, you ain't in any shape to take on the Nichols right now."

"Why, Nathan, why do that to him?"

"Chris, these people have a way of thinkin' that's so far outside normal I can't begin to know why. The best I can figure is they wanted to break him, to teach him a lesson for crossin' 'em. I just got back from settin' John Nichol's arm over at the jail. That boy ain't right in the head or the heart. Josiah's been tryin' to talk to him, to make him understand that what he and his family've done was wrong and that he's in serious trouble, but he ain't listenin'. He just keeps spoutin' off about how we're all gonna pay."

The gunfighter shook violently, both from fury and pain. "Damn it, how could I let this happen?"

"Aint' none of this your fault, Chris," Buck said.

"Yes, Buck, it is. If I'd paid more attention to the situation here in town instead of runnin' off with Hank, I'd've known what the Nichols were up to. I'd've seen Ezra had set himself up and been here to stop what was bound to happen." He rubbed at his face. "My God, what they did to him."

"What 'they' did to him, Chris, it wasn't you. You couldn't have known what their aim was."

"Has he come to yet, Nathan?" he asked into his hand, not raising his head.

"No, he's been outta his head mostly. Every time we doctor his wounds, he thinks he's bein' tortured again."

"So he doesn't even realize he's safe now." Chris heard the room go silent and looked up at the two men beside him. "What? He is safe now, right? He ain't gonna die."

Seeing the gunfighter was about to launch himself from the cot again, Nathan put a reassuring hand on his arm and said, "No, Chris, it ain't that. If we can get his fever down and prevent more infection from settin' in I think we can get him through this."

"You think?"

"I can only treat what I see. Some of the things he's sayin' in his sleep worry me; they messed with him pretty bad. We're just gonna have to watch him and take it one step at a time."

"Then there's something else," Chris said, getting so riled Buck moved next to him on the cot and put an arm around his shoulder to hold him still. "Stop playin' games, just tell me."

"It's no game, Chris," Buck answered. "There've been two fires in town since last night. Vin's gathered some of the town folk to help put them out."

"The Nichols, the three who escaped mean to terrorize the town. So help me, I'm puttin' an end to that family now." He tried desperately to get up but his friend was prepared. The hand around his shoulder grabbed his bare upper arm while the other pressed firmly against his chest. "Damn it, Buck, let go!"

"No way, you're as weak as a newborn, you ain't goin' nowhere. Besides that, you seem to be forgettin' that the Nichols are most likely gonna come after you before anybody. "

"I reckon I deserve what I get."

Buck felt a cold dread run through him at the sound of those mumbled words. "You don't really believe that, it's just the fever talkin'. You know none of this is your fault. If Hank had had a better grip on reality…"

"If Sarah and Adam hadn't died he'd of had a better grip! He was right, Buck, I wasn't there to protect them."

"Neither was he, neither was I. I loved them too, Chris, I loved them like they were my own family. That little boy of yours, he was as near to having a son as I'm ever likely to know. I understand your guilt -- hell, I share it. I was the one who talked you into stayin' that extra day."

"It was my respons … my responsibility," he stuttered, "not yours!" Chris leaned forward and tried to pull free as he worked an arm over the hand holding his chest. He yanked hard but was quickly reminded by a tearing pain in his stomach that he'd just had a bullet removed. He doubled over suddenly and would have fallen to the floor had Buck not caught him.

"Dang it, Chris, you gotta stop this," Buck yelled as he shoved his friend back onto the cot.

Nathan moved in and quickly scooped Chris' feet onto the mattress. He held them and watched as Buck bent down and once again grabbed his wrists.

"Listen to me, pard, and listen good," Wilmington said firmly. "You need to stay down and let me do the worryin' right now. I swear to you, ain't no one here planning on lettin' the Nichols get away with what they've done. This ain't just your fight any more, it's ours. They hurt one of our own. Ain't nobody doin' that and getting away with it. You got that?"

Chris wanted to answer, but couldn't. He hurt so badly he couldn't manage much more than a groan and a fist slammed against the frame of the cot.

Buck shook his head, put his hands on his hips and turned to Nathan. "You think we oughta tie 'im to the bed?"

"Only if the bed's nailed to the floor."

Buck ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "What are we gonna do with him? He ain't gonna stop tryin' to catch the Nichols no matter how much danger he puts himself in."

"Then I reckon we best be tryin' to stop the Nichols. If he keeps this up, we won't have to worry about them killin' him, he'll do it himself."

Wilmington agreed and wondered where he could find some large nails.

TBC

A/N: A big hug to everyone who read and reviewed! I appreciate the support more than you'll ever know!


	14. Chapter 14

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS **

Part 14

Vin Tanner's ears roared as he walked the boardwalk between the jail and Nathan's clinic; the sound of flames burning out of control and the shouts of men fighting to put them out echoed in his mind with a rush. He'd spent half the night and most of the day extinguishing fires presumably set by the Nichols family in retaliation for the gun battle the day before. Although he hadn't had time to help clear the bodies littering the street, he had been witness to their removal as he battled the fires hoping to prevent new deaths being added to the count. Three of the Nichols' boys were currently at the undertakers being cleaned up and fitted for sturdy coffins so they could be transported back to Kansas City. They would be sent to the undertaker's office there and released to the appropriate family members. Hank Connelly presented a different problem; they knew Chris would probably want the old man sent home to be buried with his own wife, but where exactly was home? He'd have to ask the gunfighter when he woke up.

The tracker shook his head in an effort to quiet the roar. _So much needless death_, he thought, _all for nothing_. Death and suffering that should never have happened. He thought of how Ezra had been tortured for trying to do the right thing. He'd wanted nothing more than to protect Chris and to shield someone Chris cared about, even if the gunfighter was reluctant to admit he did indeed care. The gambler had displayed amazing courage and Vin felt his heart swell with pride at the thought. Then his heart nearly broke when he recalled the image of the man being handed down to him from the Nichols' carriage, broken, bleeding and half dead. He'd paid a heavy price for doing the right thing.

Tanner removed his hat and ran a hand over his scalp and through his long hair. He supposed he should have taken a moment back at the jail to wash away some of the ash and dirt that had adhered to his body, but despite the available water basin and towel he simply couldn't force himself to be around the youngest Nichols' boy. In the short time he'd been at the jail to check on JD and Josiah, John Nichols had gotten on his nerves so much he'd wanted to shoot him where stood -- the man was more than arrogant, he was callous and self-righteous. He honestly had no regrets that he and his family had sadistically threatened an entire town, mutilated Ezra and killed Hank Connelly. He didn't think any of the Nichols knew about Chris being hurt which was probably a good thing since as far as they were concerned _they_ were the victims in all this. Now, despite three brothers being dead and one in jail because an old woman decided she alone should mete out justice, three surviving sons would be expected to continue menacing the town in order to fulfill her desire for retaliation. He understood her loss, her pain, but she was out of control and he was beginning to think she wouldn't be happy until she'd killed everyone in her path, including her own children.

Damn, he could use a drink. He gave thought to actually stopping by the saloon and picking up a couple bottles of whiskey to take to the clinic, but stopped himself cold when he remembered Ezra's last encounter with a whiskey bottle. He suddenly lost his taste for liquor and headed instead for the General Store. He remembered Nathan had been running low on bandages after he'd wrapped Ezra's wounds so he thought he'd make himself useful and gather a few supplies. "Afternoon, Mr. Hobson," he said as he entered.

The shopkeeper, who stood low on a small ladder near the back of the store, startled and twisted too quickly. He lost his balance and fell awkwardly to the floor. He wiped his hands on his apron before he moved clumsily behind the counter. "Oh afternoon, Mr. Tanner, I didn't see you there."

"Didn't mean to scare ya none. You okay?"

"Fine, fine, just a little nervous what with everything that's been happening lately," he replied, taking in the tracker's disheveled appearance and eying the floor. "I just wasn't expecting you to come in here."

Vin looked down at himself and discovered he was dropping a trail of ash. "Dang it, I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was makin' such a mess."

"Don't worry yourself about a little dirt, Mr. Tanner, a broom'll take care of that in no time. I meant I'm surprised to see you after your hard work battling those fires. You must be out on your feet."

"Yeah, I'm a little tired. I just thought I'd pick up a few things for the clinic."

"Well certainly, what did you have in mind?"

"Bandages mostly, maybe some more laudanum, and some of those dried herbs Nathan favors for his teas. Do you know which ones he uses?"

"I certainly do, it'll only take a few minutes to package everything up for you," he said as he fidgeted with his apron.

"Thanks, I think I'll sit a spell over here outta the way and wait." Vin watched as Hobson hurriedly gathered the supplies, wrapped them in brown paper and tied the bundle with heavy string. "Mrs. Hobson not workin' today?"

"No… yes, she's probably working in the stockroom."

"Please tell her I was askin' 'bout her."

"I will. I think that's everything you needed, Mr. Tanner. Um, pardon my asking, but how is Mr. Standish doing?"

"Not too good right now, but I reckon Nathan'll fix him up. How much does all this come to?"

"Please, don't worry about the cost."

"I ain't takin' goods without payin'."

Hobson leaned close, lowered his voice and said, "After all you and the others have done to protect this town, Mr. Tanner, this is the least I can do. Please, take it."

"But…"

"Please." A gentle hand reached for Tanner's wrist as he pushed the package away. "Take the supplies."

Vin looked into the eyes behind the spectacles and read their sincerity. "Thank you."

Hobson smiled before he turned to greet his next customer. "Hello, Mrs. Travis."

"Afternoon, Mr. Hobson, Vin," Mary replied, gracing both men with a soft smile of her own.

"Ma'am," Vin said, tipping his hat and stepping out of her way so he wouldn't dust her with ash.

Mary made note of his attempt and motioned him to stand still. "I must say you look ready to drop. I know you've been trying to pull everyone together to keep an eye on things but maybe it's time for you to get some rest."

"I will once we find Mrs. Nichols and her boys. Speaking of which, you should be careful walkin' 'round town 'til we've caught 'em."

"I have an escort just outside that door."

Vin raised an eyebrow.

Mary grinned. "Archie Sanders saw me leave my office, he insisted on walking me over here."

The tracker knew Archie from the Barber Shop. He was an older gentleman, but he was damned good with a gun. "I reckon he can look after ya."

"Yes. Now, Mr. Hobson, I'm in need of a few things. With everything that's been happening I'm afraid my cupboard has gone quite bare. Speaking of which, Vin, have you boys been eating?"

When Tanner took too long to answer, Mary gave the storekeeper a list of more items to gather. "I was planning on making some bread and stew. I'll just throw a couple more potatoes in the pot and bring some over to the jail and the clinic. Would that be alright with you?" she asked eyeing Vin as he licked his lips.

"You don't have to do that, Mary. We can round up something from the hotel."

"Are you saying you don't like my stew?"

"No, ma'am, I remember that stew of yours when I was sick last winter. I know for a fact it was what cured me and not Nathan's potions."

She laughed and so pleasant was the sound Vin felt the roaring in his ears fade away. "Well now, I think we'd better keep that our little secret or Mr. Jackson may get his feelings hurt."

"You're right," he agreed, a little embarrassed. "I'm headin' back to the clinic now to help him with Ezra. I can walk you back to your place first though if ya like."

"Thank you, but I wouldn't want to hurt Archie's feelings either." She suddenly became very serious. "Uh, Vin, how is Ezra? Will he be alright?"

"We hope so. Nathan's doin' all he can."

"I only caught a glimpse of him when the Nichols had him at the hotel, hanging…" She couldn't bring herself to finish. "He looked terribly hurt. I've never seen anyone abused so badly. I just don't understand how anyone could do that to another person?"

Vin saw Mary blink away tears threatening to spill from her gentle blue eyes. "It's alright, Mary, try not to think on it." He risked smearing her hand with ash as he took it into his own.

"I have to think about it. We all have to. Ezra Standish helps protect this town. He's one of our own, even if he tries to deny it sometimes."

The tracker smiled at that. "You know him pretty well."

"Oh, he's not so difficult to understand. He's actually a very charming person."

Vin pulled back in surprise and watched her turn away just long enough to discreetly wipe at her eyes.

"Well, how 'bout that. Ezra has a fan."

She turned back and caught the amusement on his face. "Now Vin, he's a very kind soul, if a little withdrawn at times. He's a good fit with you and the others and this town needs you all. Would you please tell him… tell him…" she struggled for the right words.

"Don't you worry none, I'll tell him." He patted her fingers before he released her.

"I take it Chris has been helping at the clinic as well."

Vin paused for just an instant, thinking he should probably tell her Larabee had been wounded in the rescue, but changed his mind when he saw other customers enter the store. "Yes ma'am, he's got his hands full right now."

"I'm sure," she answered. "Please tell him I'm very sorry about what happened to his father-in-law."

"I will, Mary. I'd best be gettin' over to the clinic. Tell Archie to keep his eyes peeled." Tanner nodded his thanks to the clerk, tucked the package beneath his arm and headed out the door.

TBC

A/N: A big THANK YOU to all those who reviewed!


	15. Chapter 15

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 15**

Buck laid a hand across Chris' brow and blew a long sigh of frustration when he realized the gunfighter's fever was gaining momentum. If they could keep him still and quiet he would probably recover his strength within a few days, but Buck had every idea, given his friend's state of mind, 'still and quiet' were too much to hope for. His suspicions were confirmed when Chris weakly swatted his hand away and mumbled something about 'leaving at first light.' The ladies man glanced out the window to see the sun positioned high in the sky and knew Chris was dreaming. The man could be as stubborn as a mule and just as ornery if he was of a mind to – awake or asleep.

Feeling as if the chair he occupied was growing to him, Buck twisted around and slowly stretched the muscles in his back. He spotted Nathan anxiously crossing and uncrossing his arms as he paced back and forth opposite Ezra's bed. Eventually he settled himself on the mattress, but he looked worried, more worried than Buck had ever seen him. "Nathan?"

Oblivious to Buck's attention, Nathan leaned over to tug at some of the bandages across Ezra's chest. The gambler tried to roll away but a firm hand pulled him onto his back again and the examination of the angry red wounds continued. Not for the first time since his fever had developed, Ezra mumbled in unintelligible gibberish. The slurred words intermittently hosted deep groans and occasional terrified cries and the healer knew exactly what demons haunted his patient's mind. Nathan, apparently displeased with his own handiwork, moved down Ezra's body to check the bindings holding his arm in place and the bandages circling his middle.

"Nathan?" Buck repeated.

Jackson looked up to see Wilmington standing next to him.

"You okay?"

"Me? I'm good, but Ezra…"

"His fever?"

Jackson let go the wrappings around the Southerner's waist and for what seemed like the hundredth time put a hand against his cheek to gauge his temperature. "It's much higher than before, he's wearin' out."

"He ain't the only one who's wearin' out. Why don't you go get some rest? I can watch these two."

Nathan didn't answer; instead he stared at Ezra as if contemplating what to check next.

"What is it? What's eatin' at ya?" Wilmington moved to sit on the chair next to the bed.

"It's nothin'."

"I've never known ya to worry over nothing, Nate."

The healer didn't raise his dark brown eyes, but after a long pause, he did eventually speak. "It's somethin' Chris said -- about Ezra not knowin' he's safe."

Buck waited and listened.

"He's right. Ezra ain't come 'round long enough to know where he is. We keep tellin' him, but he doesn't understand. The nightmares he's havin' are keeping him with the Nichols and I'm afraid the longer he's with them the harder it'll be to bring him back in one piece."

"The fever's causing the nightmares, right?"

"Partly, but I have a feelin' there's something else goin' on. I've been listening to him, trying to figure out what he's rememberin', but I can't understand most of what he's saying," Nathan answered, fidgeting with the white bandage around Ezra's wrist.

"You're worried the Nichols really did do something to him we're not seeing."

Jackson's eyes revealed a look of dread. "Maybe, I reckon I won't know for sure 'til he wakes up." Again there was a long pause. "Damn it, what I was thinkin' leavin' him alone with them? Why the hell did I walk outta that hotel when I knew they'd hurt him, that they'd already hurt him?"

"You didn't have much choice."

"I coulda fought back, maybe given _him_ a chance to get a way."

"If you hadn't left when you did they coulda killed him outright. They could've killed you both, and don't think they wouldn't have done it. As it is, we got him back and he's got you to take care of 'im."

Nathan looked away obviously reluctant to let himself off the hook so easily.

"Things could have been much worse if you hadn't come after us when ya did. He was pretty far gone by the time we got to him and you know better than anyone he couldn't have lasted much longer. Be grateful we got him back alive."

"I am grateful, Buck. It's just… they came after me to get their hands on him and he let 'em. He gave himself up to stop them hurtin' me. He did everything they told him, no matter how bad it was."

"Did you think he'd wouldn't?"

"No… I don't know."

"You sure? Maybe deep down you expected him to save himself. Come on, Nathan, sometimes we all tend to think of Ezra as a self-serving son-of-a-bitch, but ya gotta know that's just how he likes people to think he is, how he keeps himself safe. Since he's joined up with us though, he's proven he'll do whatever it takes to protect us and this town." Buck rose from his chair, walked to the window and pulled the curtains aside.

"I know I haven't cut him much slack," Nathan finally said, "but I swear he does things sometimes just to piss me off."

Buck almost laughed. "I ain't sayin' he don't deserve a boot in the ass sometimes, but there's no doubt he deserves our faith in him."

The healer's face gentled as he brushed aside the hair matted to Ezra's forehead and pressed a palm to his skin.

Buck could see Nathan mull over what he'd said. "Come on, pard, give it up. You're gonna wear him out checkin' his fever every two minutes. Go on and get yourself some rest. Like I said, I can keep an eye on things here."

Again Ezra tried to pull away from Jackson's touch but soon settled after he rolled himself into what must have been a more comfortable position. Nathan stood, circled the bed and returned his patient's broken ankle to the pillow on which it had been resting. "I wish I could get more of that tea down him. I need him still so he can heal."

"He's taken some of it, hasn't he?"

"Not enough."

"We'll keep trying. Now go, Nathan, lie down for a spell."

"You can't handle 'em on your own, Buck. If Ezra starts yellin' in his sleep you know damn well Chris is gonna be back on his feet tryin' to help him."

"I can call you."

"I'd better just stay here."

Buck was about to insist when he heard footsteps on the landing outside the clinic. Catching sight of Vin, he announced, "Looks like help's arrived just in time." He grabbed the doorknob and ushered the tracker inside. "Albeit very dirty help," he added.

Nathan joined the men near the door as Vin offered him the package he carried and swatted at some of the ash on his sleeve. "I went by the General Store and picked up a few supplies for ya," Tanner said.

Jackson looked him over. "You alright?"

Quickly recognizing Nathan in full doctor mode, Vin stepped deeper into the room and hurriedly reassured him. "I'm fine."

"You look like crap, pard," Buck put in.

Tanner scowled. "I said I'm fine. Ain't nothin' a little soap and water won't fix."

Nathan decided to take a closer look. He reached for Vin's hands and turned them palm up. "Soap and water'll help, but these burns are gonna need some salve. You hurt anywhere else?"

Tanner visibly squirmed under the healer's scrutiny but knew there was no way to avoid it. He shifted awkwardly from one leg to the other, waiting for Nathan to turn him loose.

"Vin, it's been a hard couple of days and I've already had one patient try and hide a wound from me. Just tell me now before I have to scrape _your_ sorry butt off my floor."

Buck came up behind the tracker and spotted a burn hole in his shirt. "Damn, Vin, what happened?"

Tanner sighed. "It's just a little burn, it's not that bad."

Nathan grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him around. He eyed the scorched material for less than five seconds before he began yanking the shirt free of Tanner's body.

"Nate?" Vin asked in surprise, making a grab for his shirt.

Jackson ran his fingers around the burn on Vin's right shoulder blade before he answered. "How'd this happen?"

Vin hung his head. "A piece of wood fell from the rafters while I was tryin' to put out one of the fires. I reckon it must've been burnin' when it hit me."

"I reckon. Well it don't look too bad."

"I told ya."

"But it don't look too good either. I'll clean it up and put some salve on that too."

Vin was about to object, but Nathan had already gone to collect what he needed.

"Just let him help," Buck said. "Keeps his mind off other things."

The tracker surrendered and settled on the stool near the exam table. "How are they doin'?" he asked, motioning to the two sleeping men.

Buck leaned a hip on the exam table. "Chris would be fine if we could get him to rest."

"I take it he's still fightin' Nathan off."

"Yeah, he's tried to get up three times now but he's been too weak to make it."

Vin's eyes went to the man on the bed. "And Ezra?"

"Nathan's really worried about him. His fever's bad and he's not comin' round."

"Damn. Is there anything else we can do?"

"We need to get some more of Nate's medicines in him, but he keeps fighting us too. The last time he was close enough to being awake to give him something, we ended up holding him down and pouring it down his throat. I think more of it splattered on us than went into him."

"Well Mr. Hobson gathered up a few medical supplies for me, maybe there's something there that'll help," Vin said, pointing out the package Nathan laid on the bed stand.

"Maybe so."

Jackson returned with a basin of water, a clean cloth and a tin of salve, and quickly went to work on the tracker's hands and back. To Tanner's credit he endured the attention with minimum fuss. Fortunately for both men however it didn't take long to treat the injuries.

Vin reached for his shirt. "About John Nichols," he said as he pulled it over his head, "Josiah got a wire back from Judge Travis. He's sendin' a special jail wagon out of Eagle Bend for him sometime late tomorrow. It seems he and his brothers are suspected of killing some town officials there and the new sheriff's anxious to get his hands on them."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me," Buck replied. "Maybe we can catch his brothers before that wagon gets here and cart off the whole family."

"We've been lookin', but so far we can't figure out where they're hiding."

"They gotta be close to be settin' these fires you been puttin' out. Where exactly were the fires?"

Tanner leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "The Boarding House and the Stage Company."

"The north end of town," Nathan observed. "There's no place outside o' town in that direction to hide out. We know two are wounded, Peter and his mother, so they've got to be resting up somewhere here in town."

"But where?" Wilmington wondered. He stood and walked to Ezra's bedside. "Where would those boys take the old lady to hide out?" Coming to no conclusion on his own he turned to the tracker for ideas. The look on Tanner's face surprised him. "Vin?"

"Hunh?" Vin looked up.

"What is it? You think you know where they might be?"

"No, I just keep thinkin' about those fires."

"What about them?" Nathan asked.

"Something about them don't feel right."

"You just figurin' that out, pard?" Buck chided.

Vin grinned, he should have seen that one coming. "Just hold on a minute. Since the Nichols pulled into town, have you known them to do anything by halves?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"I mean they barrelled in on a mission of vengeance, went after Chris the minute they realized he was hiding Hank, tortured Ezra for refusing to tell where Chris and Hank had gone, and threatened everyone else who got in their way. They came with a purpose and they've backed up their threats with every bit of meanness they could pull outta their hats."

"Meanness is right. I looked inside that coach of theirs when I put it away – you wouldn't believe the things they had hid there. Things that had no other purpose than to hurt, maim and kill," said Buck.

"Right, they mean business. When they play, they play for keeps."

"So?"

"So these fires are not what I'd expect from folks who have a reputation for not holding back. Something's off. A fire ain't a good thing no matter what, but these fires didn't do the damage I would have expected. Me and the others saved most of the buildings that were burning and no one was hurt or killed. It just don't seem their style."

"Maybe they just haven't had much experience with arson," Buck suggested. "Or maybe there's too few of 'em left to do serious harm."

Vin gave the ladies man a sour look. "You really believe that?"

"Hell no."

Jackson listened to the two men and went back to check on Ezra. "Well, I don't care why they didn't kill anyone else, I'm just glad they didn't." Once again, he felt the gambler's face for fever.

"Nate, he's probably no cooler now than he was fifteen minutes ago. Go get some rest. We'll take care of him," Buck said firmly.

The healer looked ready to crumble.

"Go on," Vin added, "sleep for a couple hours. We'll call you if anything happens we can't handle."

Nathan couldn't squabble with them any more. "If either one of 'em wakes up, get some of that tea I brewed into them. And water, they both need water."

"We'll see to it," Buck said reassuringly. When the dark man hesitated, he prodded him again. "Go!"

Vin watched the healer begrudgingly make his retreat and head to the back. He smirked at Buck. "And he says we're difficult."

The two men took up chairs alongside the bed and the cot and settled in for the night.

TBC

A/N: So sorry for the delay in posting, but Real Life just can't seem to take a hint!


	16. Chapter 16

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS **

**Part 16**

_Ezra felt the world spin wildly in large sweeping circles as huge hands grabbed him by the arms, yanked him from the countertop and threw him to the floor. What next, he wondered morbidly as he drew in his knees and dragged his tattered feet away from the men who had just cut them. He tried to focus on the voices above him but the shouted words were so intermingled with frenzied howls and wails it was difficult to understand what they were saying. A bloodlust had begun and he recognized immediately he was the sacrificial lamb at its center. He wrapped one arm around his knees and one arm around his head in an effort to make himself appear as small and uninteresting as possible – it didn't work. The elbow against his head was jerked roughly behind his back and he was forced upright, shoulders pulled back, legs spread wide on the floor. _

"_Talk to me, Standish. Tell me where Larabee hid Connelly," a voice barked loudly causing a hush to fall around the room. _

_Ezra heard the instruction but his brain failed to register its meaning. He instead stared at his feet, wondering with growing concern at the small red pools forming beneath them. Then the person attempting to gain his attention lowered himself into a squat between his knees and grabbed his chin._

"_Tell me," the voice repeated._

_He tried to avoid the eyes drilling into him but instantly regretted it when his tormentor, Peter Nichols, released his chin and smashed a heavy fist into the side of his face. The skin over his right cheekbone and eyebrow split, and his vision began a sickening dance before him. _

"_Where is Connelly?" Peter shouted._

_The gambler swallowed hard and tilted his head back. "D-don't… know."_

_Nichols grabbed him by the face again and pulled it level with his own. "You're lying. You work with Larabee, you know how he thinks. Where would he hide?"_

_Ezra tried to squint despite the rising hurt around his right eye. He sneered as a bloodstained grin slowly crept across his face. "Chris… doesn't… hide."_

"_Is that right, well look around, he isn't here to save you."_

_Ezra's mind began to wander to his feet again and he tried to lean around the man in front of him despite the awkward grip on his arms. _

_Nichols caught the movement and scooted within a hair's breadth of his victim's face. "What're you looking for?"_

_Ezra startled when he couldn't adjust his focus fast enough._

"_Your feet?" Peter asked, looking over his shoulder. "You've got much bigger problems than your feet."_

"_Can't feel…" Ezra mumbled before he realized he'd spoken. _

"_Never mind that, just tell me where Larabee has taken Connelly."_

"_I told you," he said softly and purposefully, "I don't know."_

"_You do know," Peter replied before he pulled back and struck him in the face again. "Damn it, I'm talking to you, pay attention!"_

_Nichols stood, removing his bulk from the gambler's view. Ezra was so relieved to see his feet he might have actually keeled over had the arm behind his back not been twisted further still from his body._

_Peter's patience disappeared. "If you're so dead set on feeling your feet maybe I should just help you out! Hold him, Luke." _

_Ezra felt the hands holding him yank hard and saw the man standing between his knees turn sharply towards his right foot. In that instant, a heavy boot rose high above his lower leg and came crashing down – once, twice, three times on his shin and ankle. The action was so severe Ezra felt bone grind and break. He cried out and frantically began battling the man behind him. He twisted and pulled, desperate to free himself, but the grip on his arms only tightened. "Get off me!" he yelled and gave one last, hard jerk. The brother at his back countered his efforts by hauling him upwards. The strain on his body was too much and his shoulder separated itself from its socket. He swore he could actually hear a sucking tear as it let go. Luke, had that been his name, must have heard the same sound because he relinquished his hold and snatched his hands away as if bitten by a snake. _

_Peter spun around when he realized the Southerner was free to curl himself on the floor. "I didn't tell you to turn him loose!"_

_Luke stood quickly and brushed his hands on his pants. "Something inside him just tore it's self loose. He ain't going nowhere."_

"_No, he isn't!" Peter twisted a hand in the Southerner's shirt and pulled him upright off the floor. _

_Ezra's world again gyrated in a nauseating swirl of bright lights and blurry shadows. He couldn't stand much more of this. So much of his body hurt he couldn't tell where one injury ended and another began. He knew his mutilated feet had been the focal point of his attention before, but now his entire upper torso was so rapt in agony it threatened to pitch him into blackness. _Please, _he begged silently, _please, let me pass out. _He felt the whole universe conspire against him as his request was denied and a hot breath blew into his face._

"_Enough of this! I've warned you what would happen if you didn't cooperate. I've made it very clear how I feel about your kind and still you defy me. You're playing a dangerous game, Standish, one you're going to lose." He backed away and began pacing. "You know what I have in mind for you so let's just go ahead and be done with it!"_

_Ezra knew exactly. He heard Peter give the order for his weary body to be returned to the countertop. In the seconds that followed he felt brutal hands grab him off the floor and heave him back onto the unyielding surface. Oh God, they were going to do it this time! He grabbed the edge of the counter and tried to pull himself away, but the effort was a complete waste of time. There were simply too many of them. Every limb of his body was seized and held, a forearm fell across his middle and two hands trapped his head. The only movement allowed him was the painful sucking in of air and that was rapidly becoming nearly impossible to do._

_He tried to resist and crane his neck around to search for the Nichols matriarch. Was she still there? She had managed to control her pit of vipers up to now, insisting, oddly enough, that the payment to be exacted from him was with regard to helping Hank escape. Despite what her sons concluded were his long list of transgressions as a gambler, she seemed unconcerned. He suspected she meant to see him dead at the conclusion of her vendetta, but at the moment she was more interested in getting her hands on Hank and Chris. He hoped against hope she would intervene and discipline her offspring but evidently she was out of earshot of what was about to happen. "Don't… do this," he snarled. "Mrs. Nichols…would not approve."_

_Peter's face swam above his own. "You're mistaken. It's you she doesn't approve of, you and your ways. She fully supports us and our work to defeat evil."_

_Ezra tried to understand. _

"_Not all punishment need wait 'til you meet your maker, gambler. You're a disciple of the devil and Ma has walked away from you. You're mine to judge now."_

"_Who are you… to judge my sins?" Ezra asked defiantly._

"_I'm the man with the knife." To emphasize his point, he raised the weapon so his prisoner could clearly see the bloody blade. Ezra struggled against the biting fingers bruising his flesh as Peter turned the knife in his hand. "Then again, I've used this on you most of the day and it really hasn't done the trick."_

_Ezra remembered the slicing, the digging and the sawing and felt his cramping stomach send a flow of bile up his throat and into his mouth. Slowly the foul liquid leaked past his lips and down his cheek. He knew; he knew just where Nichols' mind was going. _

_Then the man actually gave voice to his thoughts. "Hand me the cleaver!"_

_At that moment, he knew this was it. No more warnings, no more threats. "C-Chris!" he cried not really understanding why. Chris couldn't help him; he'd be killed on sight, but again he shouted the gunfighter's name. He cursed his own weakness and ground his teeth and pushed a cry of "No more!" from his lips. Finally it sank in. He closed his eyes against the truth, but he knew. As it had always been in the past, he was on his own._

_The last thing he saw were three men, all dressed in black, reaching for him._

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Buck listened as Vin Tanner snored. He'd dozed off in his chair not long after Nathan went to get some sleep. Wilmington had suggested the tracker lie down, but his friend insisted he could do his resting from a chair. Apparently, he'd been right because the soft rumbling had been Buck's constant companion for the past three hours and showed no signs of leaving him any time soon.

The ladies man sniffed the air and caught the delicious smell of freshly baked bread. Mary Travis and Archie Sanders had delivered a homemade meal of bread and stew just minutes before and he debated whether he should wake Nathan and Vin to eat or just allow them to sleep. Sleep had won out, but the noise emanating from his own belly was fast becoming difficult to ignore. After a couple of minutes, his stomach won out and he swiped the heal of the bread to nibble on. The growling lessened and he silently admired Mary's culinary skills. He appreciated her personal skills as well. Although she and Archie had been curious about what was happening inside the clinic, they hadn't asked to come inside. She understood how things were among the peacekeepers and respected their privacy. She left with Archie to visit the jail, the intoxicating smell of home cooking trailing in her wake.

Buck was about to reach for a drink when he heard a groan come from the bed. He abandoned the cup and hurried to Ezra's side, immediately noticing the heat radiating off his body. The gambler's head tossed against the pillow and his free hand clutched at the sheet draped across his waist.

"Get away from me," he mumbled.

Vin came awake at the sound of the Southern voice. His sharp move to reach Ezra caught Buck off guard.

"I thought you were sleepin'," Wilmington said.

"Just restin' my eyes. Is he awake?"

Buck shook his head. "I think he's dreamin' again, he's burning up."

"Well, you know what Nate said, we need to get some more medicine in him. Maybe we can wake him enough for him to drink."

Buck stilled the clutching hand. "Ezra, can you hear me?"

"Get," he groaned hoarsely, "get away from me." He tried to pull his hand free.

Buck held tight. "It's alright." He watched the muscles in Ezra's arm tense as he tugged against his grip. "Come on, buddy, wake up."

"D-don't do this," he pleaded as he switched his efforts from his trapped hand to that of his bound shoulder and arm.

"Ezra, be still, you're gonna hurt yourself."

"I can't move! Let go!"

Wilmington lightly tapped the bruised face to gain his friend's attention. "Come on, wake up!"

The eye that had been swollen shut the day before was nearly normal again, but it did little good since neither of the Southerner's fevered eyes seemed able to focus. He backed into the pillows only to have Buck and Vin move with him and pin him down. "No!" He shouted when he felt the weight on top of him. "No more!" He pulled as hard as he could but failed to free himself from the cloth bindings or the well-meaning caregivers. His mind flinched at the sight of the black-clad demons that tortured and disfigured him and his only desire was to escape their reach. His life depended on it. "I w-won't let you… do this to me… I'll see you in hell first!"

"Listen to me, Ezra. It's alright, it's over!"

"No! No more!"

"Ezra!" Buck called loudly as he realized just how badly he'd lost control of the situation. Ezra battled one of the hottest fevers and worst deliriums he'd ever seen and he simply wasn't qualified to help. He wasn't even sure if Nathan had such experience. He was about to send Vin for the healer, when something changed – the body in his grasp heaved itself against the headboard and literally caved in. Ezra drew his knees towards his chest, bowed his back as far his bound shoulder would allow, and let his head drop forward. He pulled again at his hand and moaned miserably, "Oh God, I can't do this."

"Ezra?" Wilmington knew his friend was in serious trouble when the very next word from his mouth was Chris' name. _Oh hell, _he thought. _Please tell me Ezra didn't call for Chris while the Nichols were cutting him up. The one person who could save him… the last person he could pray for. _The allusion was too awful to believe. The second time Ezra cried out for Chris, the plea was too much to bear.

Vin looked away, Buck found he couldn't. He was trapped in the anguish which was Ezra's nightmare; his own mind conjuring images of the Nichols as they taunted him, abused him, terrorized him. He knew he would probably never know everything his friend had suffered, but he could definitely see the results of it.

Ezra shifted against the headboard. After a long pause, and with composure he didn't truly feel, he raised blind eyes and asked for the impossible. "Please…just kill m-me."

The request was so unexpected the room fell silent.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Except for Ezra's labored breathing, not another sound could be heard until someone in the shadows said, "Let him go."

TBC

A/N: To all those who left reviews, meet me at Standish Tavern this afternoon! The first round's on me! Thanks for the amazing support!


	17. Chapter 17

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 17**

"Do it, Buck. Let him go."

Wilmington stiffened when he heard the gruff voice at his back. Nathan was right – Chris was on his feet again, which meant the ladies man would suffer a reproachful 'I told you so' when the healer woke up. He turned and stared at the figure standing hunched over behind him. The gunfighter looked ready to drop; he also looked ready to kill. Nevertheless, he had to stop Ezra from doing himself permanent damage. "I can't, Chris, he's gonna tear himself up fightin' us the way he is."

"He's fighting you because he thinks you're the ones who did this to him."

"I'll get through to him."

"Not like that you won't, now let him go."

Buck looked back again to see Larabee step into the light cast by the bedside lantern. The expression on his friend's face was something akin to worry only a hundred times more dangerous. He glanced at Vin and together the two men surrendered their hold. When Chris staggered towards the bed, Buck went so far as to surrender his seat. He then took the gunfighter by the elbow and helped him settle on the mattress as he discreetly motioned for Vin to fetch Nathan.

Chris briefly clung to Buck to steady himself against the rush to his brain. The journey across the room had cost him what little energy he'd gained from his short nap and the dizziness was overwhelming. He'd wakened the moment Ezra started tossing in his delirium, but it had taken him all this time to gain his feet. Now there was next to nothing to pull from, but still he had to find the strength to do what needed doing. He ran a hand through his tousled blond hair and straightened as best he could.

Detecting the weight on the mattress Ezra clambered backwards until he had no place else to go. He yelped in pain when his torn back bumped the solid headboard. He tried to regain control, wanting desperately to say something, but in the end couldn't make himself understood.

"Ezra," Chris called quietly.

The Southerner didn't acknowledge him. Instead he abandoned his attempt at speech and began struggling against the sling tied around his body. "Let… go," he finally got out.

Chris called again and moved closer, being careful not to touch him. "Ezra, look at me. It's Chris." The fight against the imagined assailants lessened only a little, but it was enough for the gunfighter to hope he might have a chance of getting through to the gambler.

"Don't," Standish said ahead of a stream of mumbled words, and pulled away.

"I said look at me," Chris insisted in a tone he'd used in the past to get the gambler's attention. It apparently still had some effect because the scramble to move off the bed stopped even if the battle against the sling didn't. "Do it, Ezra."

Unseeing eyes moved suspiciously from side to side. Someone was with him… someone who shouldn't be. A flicker of memory flashed through his brain. "No," he whispered in warning. "Go away."

"I'm not leaving you."

The flicker returned, slowing just enough for him to recognize who was there. "Chris?"

"Yeah."

"You have to go. I can't do this… much longer."

"You don't have to, Ezra."

"Can't… I can't…" The gambler jerked hard against the sling. "I can't feel…" He fought harder but achieved little more than breaking open wounds Nathan had sewn closed. Blood seeped through the white bandages around his chest and abdomen, but he was determined and wouldn't give up until he freed himself. "Get off me," he yelled.

"Ezra," the gunfighter said sharply. "Don't move! You hear me? Stay still and let me cut you loose."

Standish froze. Chris was going to cut him free? Hadn't he already made that promise? There was pain in his wrists and he was hanging, but he couldn't remember why or how. His mind was such a jumbled mess he couldn't make sense of events or the passage of time, but it didn't stop him trying. "They hung me… I can't stand."

"I know. I'll cut you loose, just stay still." Chris reached for the piece of cloth holding Ezra's sling in place but fumbled slightly with the knot. He bumped the Southerner's arm and felt him pull away. "It's alright, be still."

Surprisingly, Ezra did as he was told.

Buck watched in amazement. He'd never seen Chris so at ease with Ezra before. There was a trust between the two that quite frankly took him off guard. He wasn't sure if they were even aware of it, but that trust was the only thing holding the gambler together at the moment and he prayed Chris' strength would last long enough to see him through. He tore his eyes away long enough to see Vin and Nathan standing in the doorway to the back room. Both men stared but neither man moved. They were obviously as astounded as he was.

Chris finally loosened the stubborn knot and untied the strap around the sling. Ezra was free to raise his elbow now but his arm was still trapped in the confines of its cloth cradle. When he reached to untie the material behind his friend's neck he heard two voices call out. One was Ezra, startled by the hand near his face, and the other was Nathan, warning him against releasing the injured arm. He caught the green eyes staring at him in fear and reassured the gambler with a few quiet words. He let Buck handle Nathan, and listened as the ladies man asked him not to interfere. A moment later, the sling was lowered and Ezra was allowed to bring his two hands together. "Go slow, don't move too fast," Chris cautioned.

Again, Ezra did as he was told and slowly rolled onto his side. "Hank," he said unexpectedly.

"What?"

He tucked his chin and repeated, "Hank."

A little surprised by the gambler's concern, Larabee answered, "Hank's fine, he's gone now." There was no sense telling him Connelly was dead and his sacrifice had been for nothing.

A small smile appeared just before a deep hacking cough overcame him and doubled him over. Everyone in the room reacted at once and reached out to offer comfort. The closeness and the contact drew the demons from Ezra's mind and he was forced once again to retreat. "No," he cried. "Get off me!"

The three men standing backed away.

Chris stayed put. "It's alright, Ezra, no one's gonna touch you. No one's gonna hold you down."

"M-my sins… my sins," the weary man mumbled. He drew both hands towards his chest and flinched when his left shoulder moved forward.

"What's he saying?" asked Buck.

Nathan neared the bed. "I don't know, but we need to watch that arm of his. He can't afford to pull that shoulder out again. You shouldn't have untied those bandages, Chris."

"I had no choice. Tying him up is the last thing he needs right now. If we're gonna get through to him we need to let him know he's not with the Nichols any more. They held him down to butcher him; we ain't holdin' him down to help him."

Buck stood next to Chris. "Well, you gettin' him to settle down is as close to him knowin' he's safe as he's been since we cut him down at the hotel. That was good work, pard."

"He ain't safe yet. We still gotta get through to him and this fever ain't helpin'," Larabee answered. "Nathan, can you make up some of that tea of yours? I'll see if I can get him to take some."

The healer nodded. "I'll be right back, just keep him still, alright?"

Chris agreed and shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

"You okay?" Vin asked, seeing the gunfighter pale. "It'd probably be a good idea for you to have some of that tea yourself."

"Later, right now we need to…"

"Noooo," Ezra said tightly, rolling further onto his side.

Chris noticed the awkward position he was forcing his shoulder into and put a hand out to stop him. Ezra jerked away and began muttering a stream of curses the gunfighter was sure he'd never heard the eloquent man use before. "Don't, Ezra, don't move."

The curses soon faded but the hallucinations of Standish's delirium seemingly ushered in a deeper feeling of dread and fear. "Knife… no, not a knife… next time… next time…"

"Easy, Ezra."

"No… Oh God..." The Southerner's breathing quickened and before he could say another word he choked.

Buck and Vin moved to either side of the bed. Chris scooted further up the mattress. Damn, how the devil were they going to get through to him if they couldn't touch him? Then Chris recalled his original plan. They couldn't touch _him_, but… "Ezra," he called. "Can you hear me? I need your help."

Ezra was still gagging but appeared to be searching for the voice speaking to him.

"We have to get out of here and we have to do it now. But I can't reach you. I need you to give me your hand."

The gambler actually swallowed the strangling sensation in his throat and tried to listen.

"Come on, Ezra, we have to go. Give me your hand!"

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

Confusion filled the blind eyes. "I don't understand. You… can't be here."

"I am here, Ezra. I've cut you loose and we're gonna go see Nathan, but you have to help me."

"Nathan… was here."

"Yes he was. He came and told me where you were. He brought me here."

Standish's green eyes grew large with fear. "No, no, no," he said quickly. Then he twisted around suddenly and grabbed hold of Chris' unbuttoned shirt. "They'll kill you!"

The reaction was so abrupt the gunfighter barely had time to respond. He snatched the smaller man's wrists and held on tight to keep himself from being knocked off the bed.

"They'll kill you," Ezra cried. "I didn't tell them, I swear!"

"Ezra! No one's gonna kill me! It's alright."

"They'll kill you!"

Nathan ran back into the room just in time to see Chris seize Ezra by the wrists and shake him. "What the hell?"

"Listen to me. No one is going to kill me," Chris cried. He let go the hands when he noticed blood soaking through the bandages. He hadn't meant to grip him so tightly but he had to get the gambler to make a move towards his own rescue. "Come on, Ezra, it's time to go! Give me your hand!"

"I can't!"

"Damn it Ezra, don't argue with me!"

"You shouldn't have to pay… for my sins… They said they'd do it … Please, Chris…"

"What are you talking about? What sins?"

"Punished me… for my sins," The Southerner answered stiffly.

"The Nichols?"

Wild eyes searched the low light until they found Chris' face. "I didn't tell them… I know I didn't." The fearful stare lowered and came to rest on two bloody wrists. "S-so they did it." When Ezra raised his eyes again, they were so filled with pain, Chris thought his heart would stop. "Oh God, they did it," the gambler said despondently. Finally, after several moments of repeating the same words over and over, the overwhelming fatigue in his body forced him into collapse. Chris caught him as he pitched forward, gathered him carefully against his shoulder and maneuvered him back onto the pillows.

The fight had gone out of Ezra so Nathan took the opportunity to coerce him into drinking. The gambler swallowed the liquid obediently but still didn't like being touched. He drank his fill, curled into the pillows and returned his hands to his chest. Every breath he took after that elicited a pain-filled moan, but he never spoke another word.

Buck fell into the chair next to the bed. "Nathan, is he gonna be okay?"

"We need to get his fever down. His body's fightin' as hard as it can, but he's gettin' weaker."

"How 'bout his mind, Nate?" Vin asked. "Seems like it's fightin' just as hard."

The healer didn't answer and it was that awkward silence which drew Chris' attention to the peculiar look on Jackson's face.

Buck bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "That was good thinkin' not telling him about Hank, Chris. I just wish I knew what he was talking about when he said 'his sins.' What did he mean?"

The gunfighter was so rapt in thought he didn't realize he'd been spoken to. He just stared at Ezra and thought about the things he'd said. The fear was indisputable – he was genuinely terrified and absolutely convinced that whatever the Nichols had threatened him with, they had done. He listened to the words in his head again and tried to piece things together. It didn't take long for him to begin to understand. "Oh, shit," he said suddenly as he reached for one of the hands folded on Ezra's chest.

"What is it, Chris?" asked Buck.

Ezra withdrew but Larabee took his hand anyway. "Hold his arm, Buck," he answered sharply, "carefully."

"Do you know what's wrong with him?"

Gently he pulled the hand into the light and stared at the bloody bindings.

Nathan, busy wiping Ezra's face, stopped when he noticed what was going on. "Chris, leave those bandages. I'll change them once he's gone to sleep."

The gunfighter turned the hand and continued to stare.

"Did you hear me? I'll take care of those."

He looked at the healer's face and saw an unsettling nervousness. "You know, don't you? You've known all along."

"Chris…"

"Vin, get me a pair of scissors."

Tanner did as instructed. "You have an idea what Ezra was talkin' about?"

The gunfighter cautiously snipped the cloth around Ezra's wrists. "Yes."

Wilmington hovered behind him. "What did they do to him?"

Chris kept working.

"Talk to me!" Buck hollered impatiently.

"Well, if you were going to make a gambler pay for his sins, where would you start?"

"Hunh?"

"What does a gambler need most in his profession, Buck?" Chris slowly peeled back the bandages from the bloody wrist.

"Oh hell," Wilmington replied when he figured it out, "his hands. Those bastards threatened to take his hands."

"Exactly, and Ezra thinks they did it."

"But they didn't, they're both still there."

"His mind's tellin' him something else. He thinks they really cut 'em off."

"My God…"

Chris raised the tattered limb to the light. What he saw turned his stomach.

Nathan appeared behind him with a basin of clean water and a rag. "Let me clean him up," he said quietly and waited for Buck to move the gunfighter to the chair.

Chris paled even more but held himself together. "Why didn't you tell me, Nathan? You knew and you didn't say anything."

"I suspected, I didn't know for sure," Jackson replied.

Buck stepped closer. "What are you talkin' about?"

"When ya'll brought him in, Chris noticed his wrists were messed up pretty bad. I looked at 'em and knew somethin' wasn't right about the wounds, but I didn't figure it out 'til Ezra started talkin' in his sleep."

"What d'ya mean?" Vin asked.

Jackson offered the naked wrist for Tanner's inspection. Vin took the trembling hand in his own and examined it thoroughly before he spoke. "The underside's torn up from Ezra's weight pulling on it. You can't hardly miss rope burns. But the back's been cut," he said, glancing at Nathan, "with a knife."

"Repeatedly," Chris added.

Buck was incredulous. "You mean they told him they were gonna cut his hands off, then cut him just enough to make him think it was happening?"

"Over and over. Remember what he kept saying: 'Next time, next time they said they'd do it'. They played with him for a long time but at some point they made him believe they actually went through with it."

"Son of a bitch!" Buck growled. "So he keeps reliving the moment he thinks they took his hands."

"He's too sick right now to know the difference," Nathan said as he began washing and rewrapping Ezra's injuries.

Chris straightened against the back of the chair. "What I want to know is why you didn't tell us. Even if you just _suspected_ what they'd done, you should have said something."

"So you'd've had more reason to put yourself at risk?" Nathan answered.

The gunfighter didn't understand.

"Look at you, Chris, you're so sick you can barely stand. You're just too damned stubborn for your own good. You hid bein' hurt from us, you fought me when I took that bullet outta you, and you ain't barely had a minute's rest since this whole thing started. I had no idea what you'd do if I said somethin'."

"I'm fine, Nathan, so just stop worrying about me and concentrate on helping him," Larabee answered, pointing irritably at the man on the bed.

"It's my job to worry!"

Chris raised himself off the chair. "I'm nobody's job!" he shouted. The sudden movement sent him sideways into Buck.

"Alright," Vin hollered, "knock it off! We need to save the fightin' for the Nichols."

Buck sat Chris down again and waited for him to catch his breath. "You okay?"

Larabee gritted his teeth against the hurt in his belly. "Yeah," he said. "Vin's right, we have to take those bastards down and we have to do it soon. Get out there and find them."

The tracker grabbed his gun and headed for the door.

"Vin."

Tanner turned back to see Chris' fevered eyes boring into him.

"Save a piece for me."

TBC

A/N: I decided this chapter simply didn't read well so I went back, changed a few things and reposted. The content is the same but hopefully the style is much improved. Thanks, JMck!


	18. Chapter 18

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 18**

Josiah stood outside the door of the jail and scanned the streets as Archie Sanders walked Mary back to the safety of the Clarion. The older gentleman had taken it upon himself to escort many of the ladies around town so they could conduct their business without fear, and since Mary had insisted on preparing and delivering meals for the seven men who protected Four Corners he was only too happy to accompany her on her mission. Archie hurried along to open the door to the newspaper office for his pretty young charge, waved her inside and made sure the door was secure before he departed.

Surveying the area one last time, Josiah finally gave in to the smell of hot food and reentered the jail. As he locked the door behind him, he saw JD stuff a large piece of bread into his mouth. "Much better than the food at the saloon, ain't it?" he remarked.

JD nodded as he savored the taste in his mouth. It was the first time Josiah had ever seen the boy actually take time to chew. Usually he bolted his food without regard to what it would do to his stomach, but this was home cooking, something neither of them had tasted in months.

"You know that bread tastes even better when you slather butter all over it," he advised, scooting JD around the desk and into the chair as he made himself comfortable on the bench he'd dragged from the window. "Pass me some of that stew before my stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

JD obliged him and dove into the large helping he'd spooned out for himself. After several enthusiastic bites, he finally came up for air. "That was real nice of Miss Mary to do this for us. I ain't tasted nothing this good ever. I bet Nathan and the others were sure glad to get some." That said, the young man filled his spoon again and shoved it into his mouth.

Josiah wiped his chin. "Amen to that. I doubt Nathan's had time to even think of food, much less where it was gonna come from." He pulled the buttered bread apart with his fingers and paused. "He sure looked worried when he was here before. Ezra ain't doin' so good."

JD stopped chewing at the mention of the gambler's name and stared at the preacher.

"There's not much tellin' what those men did to him in the time they had him."

Dunne set his spoon down and pushed the bread aside as his appetite began to fade. "I ain't never seen anybody so torn up before. Can a man survive what he's been through?"

"I suppose that all depends on the man."

"Yeah," JD said sadly.

"Just remember, that man's Ezra. I have a feelin' he's been through many vicious times in his life, probably all on his own. There's no reason to think he won't get through this, especially with all of us to help him."

The young sheriff didn't look convinced.

"Have faith, JD."

"Oh, I have faith in Ezra, Josiah. I learned a long time ago he ain't all about fancy clothes and pretty talk. He's tougher than he looks. I'm just worried we might not get our old Ezra back when this is all over."

Sanchez thought a moment before he spoke. "I can't say what Ezra's gonna be like on the other side of this, but I figure we'll _all_ be changed by what he's goin' through. We deal with it together. We don't let him down and we don't let him think he's let us down."

"How could he think he's let us down? He nearly died tryin' to protect Chris and Hank."

"When a man suffers at the hands of someone as evil as the Nichols family you don't know what he's liable to wake up thinkin'."

Understanding crossed the young man's face. "It won't matter though, will it," he said with a hint of hopefulness. "We'll take care of him."

Josiah smiled his agreement.

"We're his family now," Dunne added decisively, as if the declaration was something he'd been giving considerable thought.

"From your lips to God's ears."

A grim laugh sliced through the moment like a knife. "A family? You really believe you bunch of heathens are a family?" The laugh sharpened.

JD began to rise but Josiah put out a hand to stop him.

"You're a gang of hired guns!"

Josiah calmly pushed his bowl from the edge of the table, stood and walked towards the cell housing John Nichols. The man now sported two wrapped limbs cradled in the same sling across his chest. He looked ridiculous, sprawled on the cot, but he doubted the youth was aware of it given his ego. Sanchez stood tall outside the cell and looked down on its occupant. "You do like to hear yourself talk, don't you?"

John craned his neck to look up. "I have to entertain myself somehow, there's so little intelligent conversation around here."

"You may be a talkative sort, son, but intelligent you ain't. Seems to me a rabid dog might have more meaningful things to say. And I mean no disrespect to the dog."

"You're out of your mind. You don't seem to understand what it means to be a Nichols."

"Oh, I understand, I'm just not particularly impressed by it."

"You might wanna rethink that, old man."

Josiah paused and cocked his head as if awaiting some sort of divine inspiration. "Nope, mind's made, there's no changin' it now."

JD listened to the dispute and smiled.

"As a Nichols, I'm a part of a family who's respected and envied. Back home, folks would give their eyeteeth just to be near us. We're strong, and powerful and capable of achieving any goal we set. My brothers and cousins want for nothing. My ma and uncle have done great things to secure our future so we can focus on making our family grow and prosper. It's an empire; one that'll last forever."

"That's quite a leap from family to empire."

"You couldn't understand." He tried to raise himself to a more comfortable position.

"You'd be surprised. In the traditional sense families _are_ usually created by the procreation of a man and a woman united in matrimony. It's a blessed thing in the eyes of God. But I hardly think the Good Lord would be displeased by those families created through experience, likeness of spirit or even a common goal."

Nichols scowled.

"Family are simply those people who put you before themselves; they protect you, support you, and jerk a knot in your tail every now and again just 'cause ya need it. My good friend Ezra, the man your family took a knife and a whip to, he's my family, as are Chris and Nathan and young JD here," Josiah said as he squatted down to meet John face to face. "And when I hear someone bad mouthin' 'em I admit it really makes me angry, and I wanna forget I'm a man of God and permanently _shut their mouth_."

JD couldn't see the look on Sanchez' face, but he knew it must have been intense because he could have sworn he saw Nichols shudder before he pulled away.

There was a long pause before Josiah continued. "But I value my family and I wanna continue to share in the good fortune of having found it, so I control myself. There are times when it takes every ounce of my strength, but I do it."

"Control is highly overrated."

"It's the only thing keepin' you alive at the moment."

John backed away even further. "You call yourself a family. There's no blood between you, not like me and mine."

"Oh, there's blood between us, plenty of it, every time we fight -- for each other and for this town."

"You know what I'm sayin'."

"I'll give it to you that you and the others all sprang from the same womb, but that ain't all it takes to make people family."

"We didn't all spring from the same womb," he answered smugly, "but our blood all comes from the Nichols line."

JD came around the desk and neared the cell. "What d'ya mean?"

"Peter, Mark, Paul and Anthony are all my brothers. Matthew and Luke are my cousins, but they were both raised by Ma. Uncle Simon knew his wife couldn't raise them properly so he put 'em in Ma's care. He always says she's done an amazing job bringing them up."

"Your uncle just took 'em away from their mother?"

"She was too weak, too tolerant to raise 'em right. Uncle Simon spotted it right off."

"So what happened to their ma?" asked JD.

"My uncle kept her around for a while but she kept causin' trouble. Didn't take long for him to get a gut full and take care of her."

"Take care of her, how?"

Nichols cracked a devilish grin, "It's probably best you don't know. You don't look man enough to handle it."

Josiah watched Dunne's look of bewilderment, grateful the youth hadn't been goaded into responding to John's last statement. "JD," he called, "why don't you get back to that stew? It'd be a shame to let it get cold."

The young sheriff followed his advice and returned to his place at the desk. In the meantime, Sanchez rose eying the smirk on his prisoner's face. "You're a lost soul, John Nichols."

"No I'm not, preacher; I know exactly who I am and what I stand for."

"Well I'm afraid you have your ma to blame for that," Josiah replied and turned to walk away.

"They'll come for me. My brothers, _my blood_, will come for me. They'll show you what family is about!" John shouted just before he broke into a maniacal fit of laughter.

Josiah ignored him and took his seat on the bench. He pushed his half empty bowl towards the pot of steaming stew and motioned to JD. "Care to warm it up for me, brother?"

Dunne beamed when he caught the preacher's meaning.

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Vin had been searching the north end of town on his own for more than two hours before he decided to go by the jail to ask Josiah to lend him a hand checking the buildings lining either side of the main street. He banged on the locked door and waited for JD to let him in. "Everything all right in here?" he asked Dunne.

"Yeah, we're good, Vin, what's happenin' back at the clinic?"

"When I left, Buck and Nathan had their hands full. Chris is worryin' the hell out of 'em and Ezra's in a bad way."

"How bad?" Josiah asked as he raised the light in the lantern.

"Bad enough. I'll explain it all later, right now I need your help lookin' for the Nichols. I can't figure where they're hidin' but we need to find them before that wagon comes tomorrow."

Sanchez double-checked his gun belt. "Good idea, it would be a shame for the brat to be all by his lonesome on his trip to Eagle Bend. Any idea where we should start? We've looked the town over three or four times and ain't seen hide nor hair of 'em."

"We start at the beginning – the hotel. JD, you keep a close eye on our prisoner. If you even _think _his kin are makin' a move to grab him, make as much noise as you can and we'll come running. Don't take any chances, got it?"

"I got it, Vin. Don't worry about me. Just find the bastards who hurt Ezra."

Tanner clasped a hand to the young man's shoulder and silently promised he would do his best.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 19**

Vin sat on the bottom step of the stairs leading to Nathan's clinic and waited for Josiah to return from Joseph Hobson's store. He noticed the preacher's serious demeanor as he crossed the street and shook his head in disbelief. "No luck, hunh?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Nah, Hobson's like everyone else in town, worried and scared. It looks like nobody's seen the Nichols since the shootout." Sanchez removed his hat and fanned his face. The morning had long since passed and the temperature was on the rise.

"Last night was quiet enough, you suppose they snuck outta town?"

"Could be. I didn't figure they'd leave the brat behind but maybe they don't know he's being moved today."

"The whole town knows by now, it's hard to imagine they don't. I'm sure they were around after we grabbed Ezra because of those fires." Tanner took the hand Josiah offered and pulled himself to his feet. "I don't know, maybe they did move on to regroup."

"I think I'll have another look around the livery. I want to make sure the two men we set up to guard it are payin' attention. Something tells me the Nichols are gonna want their buggy back regardless."

"Yeah, they'll need it for the old lady. Somehow I can't picture her straddlin' a horse."

Josiah grinned. "You comin'?"

"I'll catch up, there's somethin' I need to be asking Chris."

"Alright, I'll meet you back at the jail -- the wagon from Eagle **B**end should be here before too much longer." The preacher hefted his weapon and walked away.

Vin rested his mare's leg on his shoulder and climbed the stairs.

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Nathan tried again to get Chris to eat some of the broth he'd scooped out of Mary's stew. In the past twelve hours, he'd reheated it three times and each time the gunfighter took a bite or two then pushed away the bowl. It was maddening trying to heal a man whose mindset was to protect even if it meant killing himself. For some insane reason, Chris' brain refused to accept the fact his body was growing sicker; it was a fact it wouldn't be able to ignore much longer.

He watched closely as Larabee dragged his body once again from the chair beside Ezra's bed to the window overlooking the street. He had to hand it to him; he did a good job hiding the shaking in his hands and the stagger in his step, but he couldn't control the flushness of his skin or the pinch around his eyes. There was little doubt his wound carried infection, but he wouldn't allow Nathan near enough to look.

Nathan was considering his options as a healer and a friend when he saw Vin enter the clinic. He went immediately to Chris, doubtless to report his success, or from the look on his face, the lack of success, in tracking down the Nichols family. Larabee lowered his head and turned away, and he heard Vin say, 'We'll keep looking,' before Tanner left the brooding gunfighter and crossed the room to take a seat next to him. Vin nudged him with his elbow and asked, "How ya holdin' up, Nate? Get any sleep last night?"

Nathan didn't take his eyes off Chris. "Some. I take it you didn't find the Nichols."

"Nope, Josiah and I searched everywhere we could think of – even woke several folks up lookin' around – but we came up empty. It's like chasin' ghosts."

"Well, I hope we find 'em soon. Chris ain't gonna last much longer if we don't."

Vin followed Nathan's eyes to where the gunfighter was propped. "He's got ya worried."

"Dang fool won't listen. When he ain't over there talkin' Ezra out of his nightmares he's keepin' watch. Every time I turn around he's on his feet. The only time he's on his back is when he's passed out."

"Yeah, I reckon he ain't the best patient in the world, but you can't change what he feels."

"I may never get a chance to the way he's goin'."

Vin looked away, not knowing what to say.

"Look, I understand the guilt. I was there when those bastards started cuttin' on Ezra. Every time he looked at me, I could feel him beggin' me to make 'em stop, and I should've been able to stop them. If I'd stayed with him…" Nathan paused as the memories began to overwhelm him. He didn't speak again for several moments. When he did, he sounded disturbingly calm. "We got Ezra back and there's a good chance he'll make it. Chris needs to let himself mend so when we do catch up to the Nichols he can be there to see it done."

"You did what you had to ta save Ezra. Chris means to do the same. He ain't tryin' to kill himself, he just can't sit still while those men are still out there. There's a lot more to the way he feels than he's lettin' on. I don't think it's just he feels responsible, I think he's just gettin' tired of evil walkin' into his life and stealin' away what little sense of normal he has. He was settlin' into the idea Four Corners is where he's meant to be and here comes the family from hell tryin' to destroy what he's built. Chris is a fighter, it ain't in him to lie down and take what comes. If you think about it, it's probably that same stubbornness that keeps us all here; I wouldn't care to follow a quitter. "

"I know you're right," the dark man said with a sigh, "but he can sure try a man's patience. He's sick, Vin, sicker than he's willin' to admit."

"You can't stop him if he's got a mind to do this."

"Oh, I can stop him," the healer mumbled.

Tanner tried to pretend he hadn't heard the threat.

Jackson continued. "I just wish I knew where that gang was holed up right now. It don't seem right they've been able to set all these fires and no one's seen any sign of 'em."

"Ain't nothin' been right since they rode into town. While I was out this mornin' I saw Mrs. Candler and her boys comin' in with a wagon; they were bringin' in the body of her husband."

"Aubrey Candler? He's the mill keeper, ain't he?"

"That's right. The Candlers live on a small homestead south o' here."

"What happened to him?"

"Seems his oldest son found him tied to one of those mills of his. He'd been beaten and left hangin', just like Ezra."

"The Nichols," Nathan said sadly.

"Looks like it. I talked to Aubrey's boy before the undertaker came. From what I can figure they must o' come across him followin' Ezra's directions away from Chris' place."

"You plan on tellin' Chris?"

"I was but I reckon he's got enough to think on right now."

"Thanks. You add Candler to his list of folks to worry over and I'll never get him off his feet."

Tanner nodded and slapped a supportive hand to Nathan's shoulder before he stood and moved to the foot of Ezra's bed. "How'd he do last night?" he asked motioning to the gambler.

"Buck said he didn't do well early on, kept fightin' in his sleep. When I checked him this mornin', he was shakin' so hard I couldn't keep 'im still."

"He ain't movin' now," Tanner said as he moved closer and bent over to touch Ezra's face.

"He stopped about an hour ago, hasn't moved since."

"He's burnin' up. Should he be that still?"

"He's just asleep. It's the best thing for him right now."

"You sure? I mean he looks pretty bad." Vin's hand slid to Ezra's fingers. He noted how cold they felt in comparison to the rest of him then spied the fresh bandage around his wrist. _They threatened to take his hands? _He just couldn't get his head around it, it was inconceivable. Ezra must have been scared half out of his mind.

"He ain't a pretty sight right now, but I do think he's okay sleepin'. I'll wake him in a little while just to be on the safe side."

"I don't reckon I've ever seen him like this before. He's always movin'. Even when he's sittin' at the poker tables he's talkin' with his hands and constantly shufflin' those cards of his. This just ain't natural." He stared at his friend and waited for him to breath. He watched for what felt like an eternity trying to detect the tiniest of movements, and then finally a slow inhalation caused his chest to rise. That was it; that was all there was, just a slow, nearly undetectable rise and fall of the chest. It was too painful to watch, so Vin squeezed the cold fingers, covered them with the sheet and moved away from the bed.

Nathan watched him wander to Chris' side. The gunfighter, who in his opinion leaned a little too heavily on his perch near the window, startled at Vin's approach.

"Hold on, pard, it's just me," Tanner said, offering a steadying hand.

"Sorry," Chris muttered.

"You know sleepin's easier when you're lyin' down."

"I'm not sleeping, I'm thinking."

"About the Nichols?"

"Them… and Hank."

"Yeah, I'm real sorry about Hank. I don't know what made him go after ya like that. I was sure ya'll had settled your differences when we put him on the trail to Mexico."

Chris pushed himself to one side of the dresser he sat on and made room for Vin. "I was too. I have to admit it felt kind of good thinkin' we'd put the past behind us, but I reckon a past like ours is never really put to rest."

Vin propped a leg on the dresser and looked down at Chris' hands. They both revealed uneasy tremors as they fidgeted nervously with the hem of his open shirt. "It's hard to say, but I do think Hank was enjoyin' the peace you'd made too, even if it was for just a little while. If his mind had been right, he'd of gone to Mexico and probably moved on with his life."

"But instead, he's a dead man."

"What happened to Hank wasn't your fault, you do know that."

"He was Sarah's father."

"That don't make him your responsibility."

"Sure as hell feels like it."

"I know, but you need to let it go." Vin watched Chris' hands cross and move beneath his shirt as he literally tried to hold in his grief. "There's somethin' I need to ask ya."

The gunfighter didn't look up. "What's that?"

"Hank's body is still at the undertaker's. You got any idea where he should be buried?"

Chris blanched and his head dropped further.

"You alright?"

Larabee didn't answer.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's not that. It's…"

Vin waited.

When Chris raised his head there was a look of alarm on his face. "It's just I have no idea. I ain't heard from Hank since Sarah and Adam died. I know his wife died a long time ago, but I have no idea where she's buried. The old man moved his family around quite a bit… I just don't know."

Tanner could see a different kind of panic rising in the eyes of his friend. "It's alright, Chris, we don't have to decide on it now."

"Yes we do. I don't wanna leave him at the undertaker's like that, it ain't decent." Larabee stirred from his seat and tried to rise. When he did, he felt his stomach muscles clench around a sharp pain in his side.

Vin's hand shot out the moment he caught the look on Chris' face and grabbed him by the elbow. "Hang on, I'll get Nathan."

"No."

"But you…"

"I said no."

The tracker looked over his shoulder to see Nathan standing at the cabinet where he stored his medicines. There was a troubled look on his face, but he couldn't tell if the healer had seen Chris' moment of pain or not. Vin drew himself up when he realized he was behaving like a schoolboy hiding something from the teacher. "You need to get some rest, Chris. Nathan's right about that."

"After the Nichols are caught." He blew a long breath past his lips and sat straight as a board. "I can ride it out."

Vin looked again at Nathan and saw him mixing herbs in some hot water, no doubt for pain. He smiled at the healer until he saw him reach for a small brown bottle on the top shelf of the cabinet.

Chris shuddered then slowly began to collect himself.

"Better?"

"Yeah, it just sneaks up on me."

"Large holes in your gut'll do that."

"Shut up, Vin."

Tanner eyed his friend closely, sparing only a glance at Nathan who had replaced the tiny bottle in the cabinet unopened.

"I'm sorry," Chris said after a moment or two of scrutiny. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, he changed the subject. "About Hank – I think we should bury him with Sarah and Adam."

"You sure?"

"I don't hold what he did against him. He could be a hard ass, but he was Sarah's father and she loved him. Every man should be buried near family."

"I'll take care of it for ya," Vin said. He rose from the corner of the dresser, strode to the window and looked outside. The sun had reached its peak in the sky and its position made him feel oddly calm. There were no long sweeping shadows to distract, no lazy pools of shade in which a man could hide. The sun's brightness brought the whole town into focus at once and he felt compelled to take advantage of the spotlight it offered. "I should get back out there."

"I'm goin' with you," he heard Chris say.

Tanner was stunned and wondered if he'd misunderstood, but when he saw Buck enter the room with the same look of disbelief on his face he knew he'd heard right.

"You're what?" Buck asked.

"I'm gonna help," Chris repeated as he levered himself off the heavy dresser and moved to grab his gun belt from a nearby table.

"I think that fever you've been brewing has settled in your brain. You ain't fit to be goin' after three armed killers."

Larabee wrapped the belt around his waist and buckled it low on his hips. "I don't want an argument, Buck."

"Well that's just too damn bad because you're gonna get one."

Vin stole a fast look at Nathan. The healer took the brown bottle from the cabinet again and tipped its contents into the tea he'd been steeping. Tanner turned to the gunfighter as he began buttoning his shirt. "I think you're gonna want to rethink this, Chris."

"Would you two knock it off? I'm going."

"Chris, you're in pain…"

"And if you're in pain," Nathan interrupted, approaching Larabee with a full cup of tea, "you take somethin' for it. Don't fight with him, Vin, you ain't gonna win."

"You can't be serious," Buck hollered.

Nathan gave Tanner a knowing look before he answered Buck. "I ain't arguin' with him any more. The man wants to drop dead in the street, I can't stop him."

"But," Wilmington began as he watched Chris down the warm tea in a single drink. "I don't believe this."

"I'm going, Buck, believe it," the blonde said firmly.

"Just stay close, Vin. Maybe you can catch his stubborn hide before it hits the dirt," Jackson advised.

Vin stepped nearer.

Chris paused and scanned the room – he needed to reload his weapon but decided he could do it at the jail since he needed to go there to grab an extra rifle. He blinked his eyes against the growing ache in his head and only just noticed the worried faces staring at him. For some vague reason he felt the need to explain his decision to leave the clinic but decided his men knew him well enough to already know the answer. It was then his eyes trailed to Ezra's idle body on the bed. He wanted more than anything for the gambler's motionless form to jerk or twitch or show any sign of life at all, but nothing happened. He brought a hand to his temple. "Nathan?"

"Yeah?"

"Ezra, he…"

"I don't know, Chris." Jackson saw the sadness in his friend and knew how deeply it ran. Vin was right – he truly wasn't trying to kill himself. He simply had had enough of the evil that flowed through his life. In that instant, the healer almost regretted his actions – almost.

The blonde swayed and stumbled as he turned to leave but Nathan didn't know if it was because of the drug he'd just dosed him with or because his body was finally giving out. Regardless, he moved closer and waited.

"Take care of him, Nate," Chris slurred as the room reeled around him. He took three steps and then staggered. A hand appeared from nowhere, offering support, and he blindly grabbed hold.

"Chris?" Vin called.

"I'm alright. I told you, I can ride it out."

"Sure you can, but maybe you should do it sittin' down."

He pulled away in frustration and aimed himself at the door. "It's time to put an end to this."

Tanner watched his friend clutch at his belly with one hand and grab for the dresser with the other. It was a full minute before he straightened and reached for the door knob. It was then Vin spotted the blood on his fingers. "Chris, you're bleedin' again."

"It's… 'salright… let's g-go."

Buck suddenly became aware his friend was on the verge of passing out. He slid himself between Chris and the door and hooked him under the arms. Without waiting for permission, he dragged him backwards to the cot and sat him down. "Damn it, Chris, this is crazy," Buck barked.

Larabee watched as his friends' faces floated in front of him. They were speaking to him, well actually yelling at him, but he was to the point he didn't care. He knew what he had to do, why couldn't they understand? He tried to push himself up again, but there were hands all over him pushing him back down, and despite his best efforts he couldn't resist. His brain had lost control of his limbs and no matter how he willed it there was no getting that control back. There was a feeling spreading across his body, a feeling he recognized from times past, and it suddenly dawned on him it wasn't his body betraying him. It was something else, someone else… "N-Nathan," he managed to say despite the numbness around his mouth. The healer's face came close to his and he could feel warm hands holding his head up. "W-what did you do?"

"Take it easy, Chris, just rest."

"You tricked… me… lied…"

"No, Chris, I didn't lie to ya. I told you I wouldn't mess with you if you didn't mess with me."

His mouth was beginning to fail him. "D-didn't m-mess… you… son-m-btch."

Buck came to Jackson's defense. "No, you asshole, Nathan likes it when the men in his care try to kill themselves. Now shut up and go to sleep."

Chris thrust his hand forward and tried to grab something with which to hoist him off the cot.

Buck easily swiped the hand aside. "No, pard, you're gonna rest."

The blackness skirting his vision slowly crept inwards and took away the light, his friends and his consciousness.

Seconds later, Buck watched as Chris slumped to one side and drifted into oblivion. "Thank God," he said as he straightened the gunfighter's body on the cot. "He's the most stubborn man I've ever known. I was…"

_FIRE! _Someone yelled from the street. _There's a fire!_

Vin snatched his weapon by the door and headed out onto the landing. He could see Josiah come running from the livery and meet up with Joseph Hobson in the street, who was apparently the person doing the shouting. Tanner hurried down the stairs.

"There's a fire down at the newspaper office," gasped Hobson.

"Oh crap," the tracker said before he and Josiah broke into a run towards the Clarion.

TBC

A/N: Now no one REALLY believed the Nichols left town, did they? They're closer than you think. Thanks again to the folks who offered feedback. I'm sure Chris and Ezra feel better knowing they have your support. I've been a little mean to them so they're both pouting at me. JMck


	20. Chapter 20

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 20**

"I don't believe it," Buck complained. "How the hell did they get away with settin' a fire in broad daylight?"

Nathan watched through the window as Vin quickly descended the stairs and took off up the street. "I got no idea, but they seem to be takin' bigger risks."

"Maybe Vin and Josiah'll come up with something."

"Maybe, come on we need to see to Chris right now." With Larabee asleep, Nathan could finally get a look at the bullet wound in his side without protest. Every effort he'd made to treat the gunfighter's injury since his surgery had been met with colorful language and hands pushing him away. Unless he planned to keep Chris drugged until he was well, this would be his one and only chance to get his hands on the man.

Buck brought an extra lantern to the side of the cot where Nathan was kneeling. "You know he ain't gonna be real happy with you for puttin' him to sleep."

"I'll worry about that when he wakes up. Right now, I'm more concerned about this wound." Jackson felt the bandage resist its removal. "Hand me a wet rag, will ya?"

Wilmington did as he was asked, then lowered himself to the floor next to the cot. He watched the healer lightly moisten the bandage before he tried to pull it away again. A minute or so later the blood-caked cloth let go and Nathan set about cleaning Chris up.

"How's it look?" Buck asked.

"Not good. He's torn it open and set it to bleedin'. It's also infected. Dang it, I thought I had it cleaned out."

"You did the best you could but that bullet passed through several things, including Ezra, before it ever hit him. Not to mention he hid it from us for several hours with a dirty rag."

Jackson rocked back on his heals. "I'm gonna get some soapy water to wash this again then mix up some carbolic acid to work into the bullet hole. I'll sew it up when I'm done. That stuff I gave him ain't gonna keep him out long so I best get to work. As soon as he wakes up, I'll make some more tea to help with that fever of his. I just wish I could get more of it down Ezra."

"He'll come around again and I'll see to it he gets some. Right now I'll get that water for you."

"Thanks," Nathan replied as Buck left the room. It was hard to understand all that had happened in the past few days, but the healer was the first to appreciate the toll it had taken on his friends. Chris was running himself into the ground and Ezra, well, he had no idea how the gambler was doing really and wouldn't know until he could talk to him without the interference of a raging fever, unbearable pain and well-meaning friends.

His thoughts were interrupted when Chris began to moan and shiver. He knew what he'd given the gunfighter wouldn't keep him out long, but it should have put him under enough to stop him feeling pain. He felt as if he had failed again. He had planned to stop his friend from killing himself, but it looked like all he'd done was slow him down. He leaned closer and mumbled softly, "I'm sorry, Chris. I'm so damned sorry."

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Vin skidded to a stop in front of the newspaper office. "Mary!" he shouted when he spotted her rounding the corner from the bathhouse lugging a large bucket of water. He took the heavy pail from her and pulled her into the street. "Mary, are you alright?"

The fear in the young woman's blue eyes became clear the instant she brushed the disheveled hair from her face. "Yes, I'm fine. I just… I…"

He took her by the elbows when she faltered and moved her further away from the fire. "Take a deep breath," he instructed her gently.

"No really, I'm alright. It's just the Clarion, we've got to get this fire out before it's destroyed."

"Josiah and I will help put out the fire. You need to get away from here."

"No, I'm not leaving." She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Archie and some of the others have started a waterline from the bathhouse, we need every hand we can get to keep it moving."

"Archie," Vin said shaking his head, remembering the man present and accounted for at every fire the Nichols had set. "We should really make him Fire Chief."

Mary didn't hear him. "Why, Vin, why the Clarion? Why are they attacking so many people who've done them no harm?"

"I think it was random in the beginning but you, Mary, I think they probably chose the newspaper because you helped us."

"Helped you? I don't understand."

"You brought food to the clinic and the jail and they saw it," he answered. Then he turned to look over his shoulder. "Which means they were watching from some place between here and Nathan's."

"They were watching me?"

"More like they were watching us."

"Then they're probably still watching," she replied, her eyes following his.

"That'd be my guess."

Josiah ran past him carrying two large buckets and took a place at the head of the waterline. He spread the water with a sweep of his large arms then reached back to grab the next load brought his way.

"Come on," said Vin, "let's put this fire out."

"What about the Nichols?"

"When I'm done here, I'll find them. I swear to ya, if I have to take this town apart board by board, I will find 'em. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes," she answered, lightly patting the hand still holding her elbow.

He nodded sharply, let her go and ran towards the bathhouse. Mary followed, more determined than ever.

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"So what d'ya think?" Buck asked, looking over Nathan's shoulder.

Nathan leaned back from the cot, holding his bloody hands open on either side of Chris' wound. "I think I've done just about all I can. I had to cut into him to clean deep enough, but he should heal better now. Good Lord willin', I got to all the infection."

"You did a fine job there, Nate. I'm not sure I'd've had the nerve."

"I set him up for this by not doin' a better job when I took that bullet out."

"You kind of had your hands full before."

Jackson sighed. "That ain't a good excuse. It's gonna take him a lot longer now to get back on his feet."

Buck clapped him gently on the back. "You know Chris; he'll be up and around before he has a right to. I ain't seen a fever yet that can keep him down long."

Larabee moaned and tossed his head restlessly.

"See, he's at it already."

The healer moved to Chris' head and raised an eyelid. "Dang it, how in the world is he doin' that?"

"Doing what?"

"Fightin' the medicine I gave him. He should be out cold. Instead he's actin' like he's comin' round."

Buck eyed the open wound in his friend's belly with worry. "We'd better get a move on then and stitch him up. Is there anything I can help ya with?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna need more bandages. Grab that package Vin brought from Hobson's store and let's see what he got."

Chris groaned again, louder this time, and Buck hustled to the bedside table.

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"Hurry, Vin!" Josiah shouted above the many raised voices around him. "We've gotta get a handle on this before the flames take out any more of the office!"

No less than twelve people had been working for nearly half an hour to slow the fire down, but the consumption of paper and ink had kept it burning despite their best efforts.

Vin squinted against the smoke and tried to see the direction of the blaze. "We need to get behind it! I can see several bundles of paper back near the presses. If the flames reach them, we'll lose control and there'll be no getting' it back."

"Any suggestions how to do that?"

The tracker eyed the bucket of water in Josiah's hands. "Only one."

Sanchez glanced at the bucket himself and asked, "Are you sure?"

Vin spread his arms. "I'm sure. We gotta do something quick or Mary's gonna lose her paper."

Josiah hefted the water and quickly doused his friend. Then he lifted another container over his own head and soaked himself as well. "Work your way through on this side," he yelled, pointing to the wall nearest the bathhouse. "I'll move the line to the window and bring the water to ya! And keep an eye on the ceiling. You've already had one experience with fire overhead."

Vin felt the tug of burned skin on his back and agreed to be careful. He then grabbed more water and headed into the burning building.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Buck sat on the edge of Ezra's bed as he cut the cord tied around the package of medical supplies. He was about to unwrap the brown paper when he noticed the gambler silently staring at him. "Hey, you're awake," he said softly.

Ezra didn't move.

"Can you hear me?"

He didn't answer.

"Ezra?"

He simply stared, making absolutely no effort to acknowledge there was anyone with him.

Despite the lazy gaze of open green eyes, Buck saw clearly that Ezra wasn't awake. In fact, the stare was so unnerving he called Nathan over and gestured nervously towards the gambler. "What's the matter with him, Nate?"

The healer knelt down and ran a dark hand along the side of the blank face. "Ezra?"

Nothing.

"Ezra, it's Nathan, can you look at me?"

Obviously he couldn't. Weary eyes fluttered closed, effectively ending the brief opportunity to reach his conscious mind. His head lolled deeper into the pillow and he was out.

Buck drew back in wonder. "What the devil was that?"

"I'm not sure. Some part of him might have felt you were near and he needed to see for himself. He doesn't have the strength to talk to us, but I do think this could be a good sign."

Wilmington rubbed Ezra's arm. "I sure hope so. I can't stand seein' him like this."

"I know. Let's just let him rest." Nathan got to his feet. "So, what did Vin get us to work with?"

Buck looked down at the package he held and pulled open the paper. "Looks like we got bandages, some makings for those awful teas of yours and..." Something heavy slid from the parcel and fell to the ground. He bent over to gather the fallen item and stared in disbelief as he hefted it in his hand. "What the hell? How did this get here?"

"What?"

"This." He raised his hand but Nathan never got a chance to see what he was talking about. A large explosionsounded from the street and both men ran out the door and onto the landing. "Damn," Buck cried. "What was that?"

A second explosion resonated through the street.

Jackson ran back inside the clinic and grabbed Buck's sidearm and rifle. He came out shoving the weapons at his friend and shouting, "I don't know what's goin' on but you'd better get down there and give the others a hand."

"But…"

"Go, Buck, I can handle things here!"

He didn't have to repeat himself. Buck ran down, taking the stairs two at time, and headed towards the chaos at the center of town.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 21**

JD actually heard the jail heave a pitiful groan as a large portion of the wall facing the street exploded. The force rocked him off his feet and sent him staggering into the cell holding John Nichols. He looked back to see his prisoner roll himself off the cot and onto the floor.

"They're here!" John shouted as he wriggled his way towards the front of the cell.

JD eyed the young man as if he had lost his mind. "Get down, you idiot!"

"My brothers are here to get me out!"

"If this is how they're tryin' to save you it's a danged fool way to go about it! They could've killed us both!"

John pushed against the bars. "No, no, it was Luke who set that blast; he's the best I've ever seen with dynamite!"

_Oh great, _JD thought,_ they're coming at us with explosives now. _The ceiling overhead creaked. "You better hope they don't try that again. One more explosion and that roof's liable to cave in."

"On you maybe. I'm thinking these bars'll protect me just fine."

Sliding himself along the bars, out of John's reach, JD replied, "Are you willin' to bet your life on it? Better yet, are they?" He stared at the large hole at the front of the office, hefted the two guns he held and waited for the Nichols gang to come charging in.

"My brothers will do whatever it takes to free me."

"Are they plannin' on doin' it in this life or wait until they send you into the next?"

"You're talking out your ass, lawman," John spat out sarcastically. "I told you before, they're my blood. They wouldn't risk my life…"

Another explosion shook the building, this time blowing a large section from the back of the jail. JD's prediction came true -- one of the large support beams slid sideways and several heavy planks of wood fell from above. He crossed his arms and buried his head beneath them but the move wasn't enough to stop the boards sending him to the floor in a heap. The heavy beam which had been blown out of place shifted again and tumbled down on top of him.

John was thrown to the far corner of his cell, and although nothing fell from above, several chunks of debris were blown in his direction. Splintered wood and sizeable pieces of stone struck him hard across his back and shoulders. He could do little to protect his injured arms except turn away, huddle against the bars and wait for the dust to settle. The pain in his arms was the first thing to strike him when the numbing effects of terror wore off. He realized he was actually lying on his broken limbs and quickly rolled himself into a sitting position. Heaving in several smoke-filled breaths, it took a moment for him to notice the grunting coming from beneath the large pile to his right. "You still here, lawman?" he choked out.

Several curses could be heard before an answer came. "Sorry to disappoint you, Nichols, but yeah, I'm still here." JD managed to raise himself enough to look over the beam pinning his legs to the floor. Surprisingly, they didn't hurt, but the pressure bearing down on them was rapidly becoming uncomfortable.

"I'm not disappointed at all," John huffed, "I want you to be around to see my rescue." He motioned towards the back wall.

Dunne looked at the back of the jail and saw the second explosion had created another hole. It was a fairly large opening that spanned six feet on the outside of the cell and another two feet on the inside. It was too high for John to reach on his own with two broken arms, but it was large enough for someone to eventually crawl inside and help him. It was obvious that was what Nichols was hoping for. JD knew it was the last thing he could allow and pushed at the beam crossing his knees with every bit of strength he could muster.

"John!" someone called from behind the jail. "John, you alright in there?"

The young man struggled to gain his feet. "Peter?" He made it up and staggered to the opposite corner of the cell. If he stood close enough to the bars, the hole on the other side was low enough to see into the alley. "Is that you?"

His brother's face came into view. "It's me. You alright?"

"I'm good, just ready to leave this rat hole."

The older Nichols straightened his shoulders and announced, "Well, you're going to have to hang on just a while longer."

"What? No, come on, get me out of here."

Shouting voices sounded in the distance and JD again elbowed the weight across his lap. Peter Nichols, the man who had whipped Ezra, was standing within twenty feet of him and he wanted more than anything to catch the bastard before he slipped away. He looked for his guns but as luck would have it they were lying halfway across the room.

"We've got a job to do," Peter said firmly, "so you're going to have to wait 'til we come back for you."

"No, you can't," John whined.

Luke Nichols appeared in the opening. "Maybe we should try to get him out now," he said.

John saw him and quickly agreed. "Yes, Luke's right. Get me out."

The shouts in the distance were getting closer.

"No, there's no time, you know what Ma said," Peter insisted. "Let's go."

John's eyes grew wide with disbelief as his kin walked away. "What're you doing?"

"We'll be back for you," Peter said calmly.

"No, don't leave me!"

Luke stared at John's face with a flicker of concern before he asked Peter, "Are we really going leave him there?"

"Ma gave us our orders. He's safe enough where he is for now. We'll come back for him later."

"But that sheriff from Eagle Bend is supposed to be coming for him."

"I know that. Look, Ma made herself clear and I'm seeing she was right. We have a job to do and there's no way to do it if we're babysitting John in the condition he's in."

The large man tilted his head, not entirely convinced. "What about the condition you're in?" He pointed to Peter's leg.

"My leg's fine; Larabee's bullet didn't do any real damage."

"I don't know, Peter, leaving him doesn't seem right."

"Luke, we're not even supposed to be here. Ma warned us about trying this too soon, and I have to admit it wasn't the best idea you and I ever came up with to use this as a way to keep those lawmen busy. We'll get him later, don't worry about it. Ma hasn't steered us wrong yet, has she?"

Luke pondered a moment longer then nodded his agreement.

"No!" John yelled when he realized he was being abandoned.

"Someone's coming, we have to go," Peter said, dusting himself off. He gave his younger sibling a casual wave before he turned his back and hurried away.

"No!"

Luke merely shrugged and followed Peter down the alley.

"No!" John cried again.

JD tried again to push the beam aside when he saw the two men were getting away, but there was simply no moving the weight on his own. He slammed a fist to the floor in frustration then watched as John fell against the wall and slid to the floor. "Nice brothers you've got there," he remarked snidely.

Nichols raised his chin but didn't comment.

"Seems like that whole 'blood' thing you were counting on didn't really work out for ya, did it?"

John opened his mouth to argue but quickly shut it when it dawned on him he didn't actually know what to say. The arrogant chin lowered to his chest and for a brief moment he felt something he had rarely known before -- fear.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Nathan leaned back in the chair he had dragged next to the cot. He'd managed to finish stitching the gaping hole in Chris' stomach and was just wiping his hands on a wet cloth when he got the distinct feeling he was being watched. He twisted around to look at the bed in the middle of the room and saw two green eyes trying to focus on him. The healer slowly realized he was seeing two green eyes instead of one. The swelling in the gambler's face had gone down so slowly he hadn't really noticed it until it was nearly half gone. He walked to the bed and leaned over his patient. "Ezra?" he called in a gentle voice. "Are you awake?"

Ezra's eyelids blinked but his mouth remained still.

"It's alright, you don't have to talk." He brought a hand to Ezra's fevered face and reached for the recently brewed tea on the bedside table. He placed the cup to the Southerner's lips and waited for them to part. When he didn't move to drink, Nathan slid a hand beneath his chin, raised it up and nudged the cup closer. On some level his weary brain understood the movement and his mouth opened. It was probably the messiest attempt at drinking the healer had ever seen him make, with half the tea dribbling onto the pillow when he couldn't properly coordinate a swallow, but Nathan was nothing if not patient. "That's good, just take it slow," he said encouragingly until the cup was finally drained. He let go Ezra's chin and then gave him time to catch his breath before he pulled the sheet to his waist to check his bandages and sling. Once he deemed everything secure he moved to check his bruised face. The swelling had indeed lessened, but the purple mottling had darkened so severely it gave him an even more frightening appearance. Nathan looked into weary, green eyes. Although they were still a bit glassy he did notice movement in them as they slowly surveyed the room. "Ezra, can you hear me?" he asked, wondering if the Southerner was more aware than he first thought.

Ezra frowned.

Nathan wasn't sure if it was in response to his question or if he was simply finding it difficult to get his bearings, but it was a reaction nonetheless and it gave the healer hope. "You're at the clinic." He waited for the information to sink in. "You're a little worse for wear, but you're gonna be fine."

The survey of the room continued.

"Ezra?" He touched the side of his friend's head and suddenly the wandering eyes turned on him, revealing an intense, not completely unexpected, combination of anger and terror. Nathan remained calm and left his hand where it lay. "Take it easy now."

The gambler squinted and tried to focus, and although his eyes were still glazed, eventually found the healer's face. He made several attempts to speak before he managed to whisper, "Nathan?"

Jackson grinned. "Yeah, it's me. How're ya doin'?"

The frown returned. "Hurt."

"I know. I just gave you somethin' that should help."

The look on his face clearly revealed he didn't remember drinking one of Nathan's teas. He shifted as if he wanted to sit up but was caught short when a sharp pain doubled him over.

"No, no, don't be movin' now," Nathan warned. "You need to lie still."

"I can't…"

"You ain't got much choice. Your body's been through too much."

The gambler tried to push Nathan away but couldn't manage it with his limbs pinned. He looked down on himself to find one arm wrapped in a sling and the other twisted in a sheet. A spark of memory sent cold dread into his chest. "Oh God," he moaned. "They did it… Nathan…"

Jackson knew exactly what he was thinking. "No, Ezra, wait. They didn't take them."

"But I can't feel," he swallowed hard, "I can't feel them!"

"It's alright. Your hands are still there." Nathan glanced down and saw the knotted sheet. He pulled away long enough to unwrap the cloth from his arm and raise the hand for him to see. "They cut your wrist, but they didn't take your hands."

Uncertain eyes darted to the sling.

"Your shoulder got dislocated when the Nichols had you, so I put the sling on to keep you from hurtin' it in your sleep." He rolled the edge of the sling back to reveal the lost hand. "See, they're still there."

"They told me…" He gagged on his panic.

"They didn't do it," the healer replied emphatically. "Lord knows they hurt you bad, but they didn't cut your hands off."

Standish's chest heaved out of control a minute longer before his head dropped forward in undeniable relief.

"Just try to calm down."

"I don't understand," he gasped. "How?"

"You don't need to think on it right now," Nathan said evenly, trying to draw Ezra back from the memory of the Nichols.

"My h-hands or his life…"

"Ezra."

Fever-bright eyes turned away and fell on a shadow across the room. "Oh God," he said with such sorrow it made Jackson turn and look. "No, no, no," he repeated as he slowly pulled away.

Nathan saw what caught the gambler's attention -- Chris Larabee, as pale as ghost, a large bloody wound in his abdomen, lying as still as death. _Damn, _he thought and silently kicked himself for not bandaging the gunfighter's injury right away. "Ezra, listen to me," Jackson said, but his friend wasn't hearing him.

"I've killed him," Ezra muttered, staring at his numb fingers with alarm.

"No."

"I don't understand. I chose… but it wasn't what they wanted to hear," he cried. "They kept coming back. They wouldn't stop."

"Stop what, Ezra?"

"They said I had to decide." He looked to the cot again. "I did."

"Easy now."

"No… my hands or Chris' life… they made me choose." He tore his eyes from the lifeless body. "I did. He shouldn't be dead, Nathan. He shouldn't be dead."

Jackson's mouth fell open when he realized what he was saying – Chris shouldn't be dead because Ezra decided to let those butchers slice off his hands rather than give up a friend. Nathan felt his stomach turn.

"Something's wrong… I must've told them… I killed him," the gambler choked out.

"No, Ezra, you have to listen to me. Chris isn't dead. I just gave him something to make him sleep," he said wishing more than anything he hadn't. "I swear to ya he's just asleep."

"I don't remember telling them… I don't remember…" The gambler drew his free hand to his chest and rolled deeper into the pillow.

Nathan tried again and again to persuade him he hadn't betrayed their friend but there was no getting through to him. He would have to wait for Chris to wake up before he would be able to convince the delusional gambler of anything. Fortunately from the sound of Larabee's irregular breathing and quiet groaning that wouldn't be too much longer. Unfortunately, Chris waking up earlier than expected meant he had very little time to finish tending his injury. He patted the back of the gambler's head and rose from the bed. "You rest now and let that medicine I gave you work."

More than a little worried, Nathan headed towards his supply cabinet. He gathered the last of his prepared bandages and was about to search the parcel Buck had opened earlier when a loud crash at the door turned him around. A dark figure rushed him, knocked him off his feet and sent him sideways into the foot of the bed. More from instinct than conscious choice, he made a grab for the holster he'd left hanging on the post. Regrettably he received a boot to the back before he could actually pull his gun.

"I see you've been a busy man, healer," someone said.

Large hands gripped his shirt and spun him around to see Peter Nichols looming at the doorway.

"Yeah," added the man who tackled him, "It looks like he's been doctoring these two real good."

"Well now that's a real shame," Peter replied, "It's such a waste to put so much time and effort into saving men who're already as good as dead."

Nathan felt a shiver run through him just before something hard smashed against his skull.

TBC

A/N: And the hits just keep on comin'! Poor Chris and Ezra... I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. I've been trying very hard to win the Lottery so I can retire and dedicate myself to the boys, but dang it, I never pick the right numbers! I tell you what, if everyone'll suggest one number between 1 and 52, maybe I'll win! Thanks again to all those who left reviews!


	22. Chapter 22

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 22**

"Vin, get outta there!" Sanchez shouted as he hefted another bucket and spread its contents over the flames consuming the Clarion.

"Just a little more, Josiah," Vin answered hoarsely.

"No, no more. It's time for us to leave!" The preacher looked up. Although they had managed to slow the fire's progress towards the back of the newspaper office, they hadn't been able to stop it finding a new path to travel.

"I think I can work my way 'round. Keep that water comin'!"

The smoke was so thick Josiah could barely see. "The fire's climbed its way into the rafters!"

Tanner stubbornly made his way deeper into the office and disappeared.

"Vin, we gotta go!" He waited but the tracker didn't answer. "Vin!" Fearing the worst, he ran to the water bearer near the door, grabbed the bucket he was offered and rushed to where he'd last seen Vin standing. "You better answer me, son, or I'm comin' in after ya!" His heart beat hard in his chest as he prepared to enter the dense smoke. Just as he drew the bucket back to toss the water, he heard a hacking cough.

"I'm here," Vin choked out, then stumbled forward, rubbing watery eyes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just hard to see. You're right about the flames; we need to stop 'em reachin' the roof."

Josiah took his arm and pulled him toward the door. "Come on. Let's clean those eyes out."

Vin didn't protest as he was guided from the building and leaned over a bucket of clean water.

"Mr. Tanner, Mr. Sanchez!"

Both men turned to see Archie run from the bath house.

"Mr. Tanner, there's been an explosion!"

Vin wiped the water from his face. "An explosion? I didn't hear anything."

"It happened while you were inside. It was probably too noisy in there to hear anything. A couple of men have already gone to take a look."

"Where?"

"At the jail. You'd best hurry; it's most likely those men you're lookin' for."

"Damn it! Will you take over here?"

"You know I will. Just you two be careful. We don't wanna see any more of you boys gettin' hurt."

"Thanks, Archie," Vin replied and ran with Josiah towards the jail.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Peter stepped over Nathan's unconscious body on his way to the bed in the middle of the room. He bent close to Ezra and whispered, "I told you you'd never get away from me," but the gambler was beyond hearing. Lying on his side, fist twisted once again in the sheet, he stared blindly as his shattered mind tried to comprehend what had happened.

"Hey," Luke said, "Look at this. It seems our little spy was telling the truth. Larabee _was_ hurt back at the hotel. It looks like he took a bullet to the stomach."

Peter scowled at Ezra before he left the bed. "Good. It'll make our job a lot easier." He stepped close to the cot. "Ma wants him dead… so do I."

Luke drew his gun and aimed it at Chris.

"No, wait," Peter said and pushed the gun away.

The gunfighter groaned. His eyelids came open for just an instant then closed despite his best efforts to keep them open. Another moan and his hands twitched restlessly at his side.

"He's coming 'round."

"Well then let's just shoot 'em both and get out of here," Luke said.

"Nobody's shooting him," Peter replied, pointing at Ezra, "he's going with us."

"What're you talking about? Why would you want to take him outta here?"

"We have unfinished business."

"Listen, ma didn't saying anything about kidnapping that gambler."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "_I'm_ sayin'."

Luke shook his head but knew better than to argue. "Okay, so we haul him outta here. What about this one?"

"I think we should give Mr. Larabee here a little taste of the hereafter."

Luke caught the glint in his brother's eye and smiled. "Well now I reckon it'll have to be a mite warmer in here for that."

Peter eyed the lantern. "Yes, but we wouldn't want him to miss anything." He stepped closer to the cot and struck the gunfighter hard across the face. "Time to wake up, Larabee!"

Chris' drug-induced stupor slowed his reflexes but his twitching hands instinctively came up to protect his face.

The younger of the Nichols leaned around Peter to get a better look. "I don't think you're getting through to him."

"Then I'll just have to try harder," Peter replied as he reached for the rifle Nathan had propped against the back wall.

"I thought you didn't wanna shoot him."

"I don't." He raised the weapon over the cot, aimed the stock at Chris' bullet wound and hammered it home. The action had the desired effect; the semi-conscious man bolted upright and came awake with a howl of pain that satisfied Peter to the core.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

JD fell back to the floor and pounded his fists against the heavy beam across his legs. He had pushed until he simply couldn't push anymore. He wiggled and squirmed but still couldn't pull himself free. The weight on top of him felt as if it had tripled in the past few minutes and a serious ache was beginning to replace the numbness in his legs. "Damn it," he swore as he twisted at the waist to search for something he could use as a lever. There was nothing, absolutely nothing within his reach. He would have to wait for help, but how long would that take? How long before…

"JD!" He heard shouted from the street. It was Buck.

"I'm here," he cried, "back here!" He craned his neck around and saw long legs climb over the debris to reach him.

Wilmington hurried to his side. "JD, are you alright?" He ran a hand over the young man's head.

"I'm okay. I just need to get this danged pile of wood off of me. I tried to move the beam, but I think something's holding it in place."

"Is anything broken?"

"I don't think so. My legs feel kind of funny, but it's more like pins and needles."

"This thing's cut off the circulation," Buck said, patting the large piece of timber. "Let me check it out." He did a quick inspection and found JD was right – two big crossbeams straddled the rafter, clamping it to the floor. The other end had driven itself into the softer wood of the walls. The best approach would be to free the lower end, but he'd have to be careful.

"How's it look?" Dunne asked with a grunt.

"Not too bad. I'll have you outta there in no time."

JD raised himself and caught the look of doubt on Buck's face. "Yeah? You and what army?" he asked nervously.

"Will we do?"

Buck drew his gun but quickly lowered it when he saw Vin and Josiah enter the room. "Perfect timing," he answered, greatly relieved to see the two men. "You can help me get this thing off JD."

Josiah helped Buck loosen the end of the rafter pinned to the floor while Vin sheltered the young sheriff from falling rubble loosened by the removal of the crossbeams. Once the heavy timber was hefted a few inches it was a simple matter of sliding JD clear. Vin settled him against the wall and carefully examined his legs. Aside from a few scratches and bruises, they appeared to be unharmed. "You look okay," he announced.

"That was close," Dunne said just loud enough for the tracker to hear.

Vin felt him shake and put a reassuring hand on his arm when he noticed JD was fast losing the rush of adrenaline he'd used to survive the attack. "It's okay, you're alright."

Dunne swallowed hard and looked at Vin in astonishment. "They're crazy!"

"JD?" Tanner felt a hard shudder beneath his palm.

"Who the hell blows up a jail with their brother inside? They didn't know where he was, they just started blasting!"

Wilmington moved fast to squat next to his friend. "Take it easy, JD."

"No, you don't understand."

"I do understand. You just had the life scared outta ya!" He took hold of the young man's fisted hand but JD snatched it away.

"Buck, stop it and listen to me. The Nichols aren't just mean and evil… they're insane!" He looked back and forth between his fellow lawmen. "How the hell do you fight something like that? How do you stop people who are absolutely out of their minds?" JD waited for an answer. Several panicked breaths later, he was still waiting.

TBC

A/N: Okay, we're heading into the final few chapters! I hope everyone is still hanging in there with me!


	23. Chapter 23

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 23**

The hurt was so great in Chris' belly he believed he'd been impaled. He tried to pitch himself sideways, to clamber towards his assailant as if he could scramble past, but a hand grabbed him by the throat and shoved him back.

"Stay down," someone snarled.

His deadened fingers dug at the unbearable pain and for a moment he gave thought to surrendering himself to the growing blackness that skirted his vision. Then his lungs began to burn, and the blackness grew and a panic like no other filled his heart. He desperately needed to breathe but the hand squeezing his larynx was literally choking him to death.

"You plannin' on strangling him now?" He heard someone else ask.

The grip loosened. It didn't let go, but it did allow him to draw a breath. He sucked greedily at the air and tried to regain his senses but his mind was as cut off from understanding as his lungs had been from air. He wanted to speak, to ask what was going on, but his mouth was too numb to form the words.

"No, strangling is too easy. I want him to really know what it means to cross the Nichols family."

The Nichols? Chris recognized Peter's voice and his heart pounded harder.

"Well, do whatever it is you're gonna do and let's go! Someone had to have heard him hollering."

Little by little, the gunfighter's brain began to sort itself out. One memory came then another and another in a downpour of events, but his drug sodden mind was slow to keep up. It took him a while to understand where he was and why, but what he couldn't figure out, no matter how hard he tried, was how Peter had been able to lay hands on him. Then he remembered Ezra and his panic grew. He groped at the fingers around his throat and forced "Ez…ra" out with a gasp.

"If I were you, I wouldn't waste the last few minutes of my life worrying over the likes of him."

Chris' eyes came open, revealing the one face he loathed more than anything -- Peter.

"Standish was the catalyst in my brothers' destruction and interfered in something that didn't concern him. He'll be coming with me."

"N-no." Chris tried to rise but his effort was rewarded with an increase of pressure around his neck. "Let him… go."

"You don't get to plead for his life." Peter released the tightened throat, straightened and jabbed Chris again with the rifle butt.

Another cry filled the air. This time the gunfighter came off the cot and dropped to the floor.

"Damn it, Peter, are you tryin' to get us caught? Let's go!" Luke yelled.

Peter watched his victim coil at his feet. "Alright," he replied, "pick up Standish and let's head out."

Luke went to the bed and pulled back the sheet. "Ma ain't going to like this," he complained as he gawked at the motionless body.

"Just do it!"

"He's got no clothes on!"

Peter smirked when he imagined the naked gambler being thrown at his mother's feet. "Don't be stupid! Just wrap him up and get a move on!"

Luke waved his hands in the air. "_Now_ you're in a hurry!"

"Just shut up and do as I say," Peter barked. He reached for the lantern on the bedside table as Ezra was again covered with the sheet, brutally yanked off the bed and tossed across Luke's shoulder.

Larabee pushed himself onto his back when he heard Ezra cry out. The gambler was being taken away, and although Chris still suffered the debilitating effects of Nathan's drugs he had enough presence of mind to know what horrors lay ahead for him if the Nichols escaped the clinic. "No…" he rasped, "leave him be."

Peter crouched beside him, resting the light on the floor. "I told you, you don't get to beg for his life. You and Standish will both pay the same price as Hank Connelly for killing my brothers."

"You hurt him… again… you're dead," Chris said dangerously despite the grimace of pain on his face.

Nichols ignored him as he increased the flame in the lamp.

"Hear me… you son-of-a-bitch… you're dead!"

"I hardly think you're in a position to make threats."

"I will kill you." Chris tried to roll and push himself onto an elbow.

Peter rose and took a step back. "By all means you're welcome to try. I want you to snap out of this fog you're in. I want you conscious and fully aware of just how truly screwed you are. In fact, I'll help you." He drew a foot back and kicked the gunfighter hard in the ribs.

Chris gagged. He tried to protect himself by pulling his knees up and folding his arms around his middle but Nichols simply came at him from behind and booted him in the back. The blows weren't strong enough to cause serious damage, but they were exactly enough to gain his attention. His eyes went wide with pain when he was pulled to his back and fisted again across the face.

"It's all over for you but the dying," Peter said. "Enjoy your trip to hell!" He retrieved the lantern from the floor and threw it against the wall.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Buck's placating tone did little to calm JD. When the young man pushed his hands aside for the second time, Vin interceded by placing his own hand on Dunne's arm. "Settle down," he said firmly, "we need to talk about what happened. Did you see or hear anything before the explosions?"

JD, obviously irritated and still visibly shaken, took a deep breath before he answered. "Not before the roof fell in. Afterwards I saw the oldest Nichols through the hole in the back wall. I could tell he had someone with him, but I couldn't see who it was or hear what they were sayin'. I don't think he could see me. If he did, he didn't seem interested." He stopped.

Josiah saw a look of uncertainty spread across his face. "What is it, son?"

"The Nichols, they blasted the front of the office first, then blew out the back wall. I thought for sure they were tryin' a jail break."

"It looks to me like they didn't try very hard. They left their little brother behind," Buck observed.

"That's just it. They didn't try at all."

"After they went to all that trouble, they didn't try to free him?"

"No, Buck, they just took off and left him behind."

"That don't make a lot o' sense, does it."

Vin raised himself from the floor and saw Dunne try to follow. "Take another minute to get your wind back, JD."

"No, I'm good. We need to see about getting this place put back together. I still got a prisoner needs watchin'."

Tanner glanced back at the unusually silent John Nichols. "JD," he called softly, "how'd our boy take it when his brothers left him?"

"He seemed surprised, like he really expected them to stick around and dig him out."

"Like they've probably always done in the past."

"Yeah, I don't think this was the first time he or one of his brother's has been locked up. But you know, Vin, he'd be a lot harder to get outta here seein' as he's got two broke arms. Maybe they just didn't want to hurt him pulling him out that hole in the wall."

"That or they didn't wanna be bothered." Vin walked over to the cell and leaned on its bars. "You look like you've lost your best friend there, pard."

John raised his face. "I ain't worried."

"You might oughta be. That prison wagon'll be here soon and it looks for now like you'll be headin' back to Eagle Bend alone to face charges."

"I ain't going anywhere in a prison wagon. My brothers will be back for me."

"Somehow I doubt it. It looks to me like they've decided to cut their losses where you're concerned."

"You're wrong."

"Am I? They missed their one an only shot at gettin' you outta here. They should've taken it 'cause I swear to you, they won't get another." John grew a brave face but Vin could see the doubt in his eyes. "You might wanna start thinkin' how you can save your own skin and quit banking on your big brothers doin' it for ya."

Josiah joined Tanner. "He's right, son. From the wire I got from Judge Travis I understand you boys stirred up quite the hornets' nest in Eagle Bend. When the law there gets their hands on you, I doubt they're gonna bother with a long trial and lengthy prison stay. I'd say they're plannin' on introducing you to a rope real soon."

"Nobody's hanging me," Nichols replied.

"Three prominent citizens are dead," Josiah said. "There are eye-witnesses who say your family is responsible. I'd say someone's gonna hang."

John shuffled around to face the wall.

"You were with your brothers when those men were killed, weren't you?" Vin asked. "You didn't try to stop them."

"Nobody stops my brothers," the youth mumbled.

"Maybe not then," Josiah said, "but how about now?"

"What're you saying?"

"I'm sayin' you can turn your brothers in, make them pay for what they did. You bein' so young, you might have a chance of makin' the authorities believe you had no part in those killings."

John's back shuddered and his breathing hitched.

The preacher stepped closer to the cell, feeling encouraged by the boy's display of emotion. "You have to speak up, son, and tell the truth. Tell the sheriff you didn't kill those men."

John turned around. "And what exactly makes you think I didn't?" he asked with eyes so cold they could have frozen the heart of the most forgiving saint.

Josiah's hopes sank when he realized what he'd believed to be sobs of regret were actually hiccups of laughter.

TBC

A/N: I just wanted to give special thanks to Jami, Lyndsey, Winnie and Cassandra30, who have been with me every step of the way. No matter what I do or how long I take to do it, you're always there with encouragement. You need to know I am paying attention! Thanks, Jordan


	24. Chapter 24

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 24**

Vin turned Josiah away from the cell and pulled him to the front of the office where Buck and JD were standing. "He's as messed up as the rest of his family."

"I'm afraid you're right," Sanchez admitted sadly.

"So why d'ya think they blew the jail without makin' a play for junior back there?" asked Buck.

"I can't figure them leavin' one brother behind when they've been so hell bent on seekin' revenge for the sake of another," Vin said, eyeing John. "They've been real busy terrorizing the town since the shootout, but today they've picked up the pace. Something's changed."

"Sounds to me like they're tryin' to keep us busy so they can sneak outta their little hidey-hole and take off."

"Without the brat?" asked Josiah.

"Nah, it don't figure."

Vin stared at John's arrogant demeanor. "It does if they're distracting us for another reason." He spun and ran to the gun case.

"Chris and Ezra," Buck said.

"Yeah, my guess is they're headin' to the clinic." Vin was out the door in an instant.

Buck grabbed another gun for himself. "Josiah, stay with JD just in case they double back here." Then he too was gone.

The preacher put out a hand to stop JD following. "You heard the man, son."

"But…"

"No buts. They can handle things at the clinic. You and I need to see about organizing a few of the men outside to help patch that hole in the back. Besides, the law from Eagle Bend will be here soon. We need to make sure our prisoner is ready to travel."

JD didn't like it, but he knew Josiah was right.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Vin rounded the corner to the clinic to see smoke billow out the door and windows. "Damn it! Hurry, Buck!" he shouted as he raced up the stairs. He darted inside to find Nathan on his knees, calling to an unconscious Chris while unsuccessfully trying to move him. Vin grabbed the healer around the shoulders and moved him aside so he could take a closer look. "What is it, Nate?"

Buck, guns drawn, ran into the room. "Vin, are they alright?" When he saw his friends huddled on the floor beside the bed he hurried to join them. "We need to get outta here." He stopped cold when he saw Chris' battered body sprawled on the floor. "Oh God, what happened?"

Nathan tried to crawl back to his patient. "The Nichols were here," he replied.

Vin put an arm out to stop him when he saw blood coating his hands and shirt. "Easy Nate, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he stated simply, then looked at his fingers. "No, this ain't mine, it's Chris'."

"What the hell did they do?" Buck asked, making no attempt to keep the anger from his voice.

Jackson rubbed the back of his aching head as he indicated the bloody rifle behind Buck. "My guess is they beat the hell outta him with that."

The ladies man gawked at the gun. "Those sons-of-…"

Vin watched the blaze at the back of the room. "Come on, we need to get them outside." He rose to check the bed. "Where's Ezra?"

Buck looked around. "He ain't here!"

"Nate, where is he?"

The healer stared at the bloody mess that was Chris' face.

"Nate! Where is Ezra?" Vin asked louder.

Jackson didn't look up. "He came to for a while but he was confused, kept blaming himself for Chris' death."

Buck circled the bed. "Chris ain't dead!"

Obviously still dazed, the healer raised a hand to the twitching body in front of him. "I know… I know. But Ezra thinks he is. He wouldn't listen to me. Then the Nichols broke in."

Wilmington quickly checked the back room for signs of the gambler and returned with a fearful look on his face. He shook his head at Vin as the tracker tried to gather Nathan off the floor. "Get him outta here, Vin. I've got Chris."

Tanner steered Nathan away from the growing flames as Buck went to his old friend's side, hooked him under the arms and knees, and pulled him close. The motion elicited a groan from Chris just before his head fell back over Buck's elbow. "Just stay with me, pard," Wilmington pleaded and followed the smoke out the door.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

"_Whoa, whoa,"_ Vin heard someone say as he assisted Nathan down the stairs, then saw two horses and a wagon roll to a stop in front of the clinic. "Archie?"

"At your service, Mr. Tanner," Sanders said as he tied the reins off and stepped down from the rig. He gestured for the two young men with him to start unloading their cargo.

Vin drew back when he saw lidded buckets of water passing from man to man. "Archie, how did you…"

"When I heard the explosions at the jail I figured there might be another fire to put out. There wasn't one there but Mr. Sanchez said there might be trouble here at Mr. Jackson's place so I thought I'd see if you boys needed a hand." He hefted some of the buckets to the ground himself all the while keeping an eye on his helpers. "Hurry it up, you two, we need to save as much of this place as we can."

Vin lowered Nathan to the boardwalk. "Archie, how is it you know so much about fire-fightin'?"

"Why I'm from Chicago, son," he replied as if the statement alone was explanation enough.

"Chicago?"

"Yessir! Back in '71, the biggest fire you ever laid eyes on burned our city. Nearly everyone who lived there became instant fire fighters."

The tracker recalled the stories he'd heard about the tragedy and stood in awe of the other man's experience. "Well, this town's beholdin' to ya."

Sanders shrugged the praise aside and looked up. "Oh God in Heaven," he said, appalled.

Vin raised his sights at Archie's exclamation and saw Buck halfway down the stairs with Chris cradled against his chest.

"You men," Archie snapped, "get the rest of that water unloaded!" The two youths quickly obliged as Sanders ran over to offer Buck a hand. "What the devil has been goin' on up there? Is there anyone else to bring down?"

Buck shook his head. He wasn't sure how or why Archie was there barking orders, but he was grateful for the help hauling Chris away from the fire. They moved to the boardwalk and eased him down beside Nathan.

"Alright, boys," Archie shouted, "let's put out that fire!"

"I'll go with you," Vin announced.

"You'll do no such thing. Right now your priority is taking care of your friends," Sanders said firmly. "Besides that, you're near dead on your feet."

"But…"

"Now listen to me. I've got help on the way. The fire at the Clarion should be out by now and the men there'll be following any time. You just get your men outta harm's way and let me handle things here. The sooner this fire's out the sooner I'll be able to go home to my missus." He gave Vin a surprisingly wicked grin, slapped him on the back and grabbed a bucket of water. He was up the stairs without another word.

Vin returned his attention to the boardwalk when he heard Buck trying to coax Chris awake. "Come on, buddy," he said encouragingly. "Let me know you're still in there." The gentle pleading was eventually rewarded with a cough, a sputter and curse. Buck gave thanks in silent prayer and moved nearer. "There ya go. That's it."

"Get off… off me, you son-of-a-bitch," Larabee stammered and pushed away.

"Slow down, pard."

Chris' eyes nearly crossed when he opened his eyelids. "You're a dead man, Nichols."

"Snap out of it, Chris, it's Buck."

"Buck?" His eyes stilled and his old friend's frightened face settled before him. "Buck." He stopped wriggling and cursed again when he realized how awful he felt. "Where are we?"

"Outside the clinic."

"Outside?" Chris raised his head to see the heavy smoke roiling overhead. "Ezra!" he said sharply and grabbed Buck's arm.

"Hold on now, Ezra ain't up there."

"He…" The gunfighter struggled to think as several men ran past him and up the stairs to the clinic. He would have asked about them but was too busy trying to understand the disconcerting images in his mind. "I heard him, I heard Ezra yell."

Buck touched the bloodied face. "Listen to me, Chris. Ezra wasn't in the clinic when we found you."

The devil's face flashed before him. "Nichols," he said anxiously. "That bastard took him!"

Vin knelt beside Buck. "Why would he do that? Why go to the trouble of carryin' him off when he could just kill him where he lay?"

"He's not done with him. He wants to torture him some more before he kills him," Chris spat. "I can't let that happen. I've got to stop him!"

"We will, Chris, I swear it," Vin replied, holding the gunfighter down.

"Vin, if they get away with Ezra, we're likely to find little pieces of him scattered all over town! I have to get on my feet and I have to find him!" He shoved away the hands on his thighs and shoulders and scooted away.

"You ain't goin' no where," Buck cried when he realized Chris was working himself into a frenzy. The rage and fear of the man were palpable, which meant he would soon be out of control. "Damn it, would you just settle down!" He reached again to grab hold.

"Get your damned hands off me! I'm sick of this!" The gunfighter crawled backwards until he was leaning against the building. He climbed to his knees and with the aid of the wall managed to make it to his feet. "I will not have another man dead because of me." Before he could turn to take a step, he slid down the wall and landed hard on the sidewalk.

"Stop," Jackson said loudly before Vin and Buck had a chance to move.

"Nathan?" Buck called.

"Don't. Just leave him," the healer insisted, then gained his feet and went to Larabee's side himself.

Chris looked at him warily but was too exhausted from his efforts to move. Dark hands touched him, gauged the temperature of his brow and then began checking the rest of his body. He looked away when they found the bloody hole in his side.

Nathan fingered the wound gently. Then spoke so softly only Chris could hear. "If somethin' happens to Ezra now it won't be on you," he said, and waited for Chris to face him. "It'll be on me."

Pain filled eyes asked the question.

"You couldn't have stopped Nichols no matter how hard you tried, not with what I gave you. As it was, you came 'round a lot sooner than you should have. I ain't never seen a man fight so hard to stay awake. But the truth is I made the decision to knock you out. I'm responsible for you not bein' able to fight when they came after you."

Some part of Chris agreed, but the look on Nathan's face decided him against placing blame. "Not… on you," he blew through clenched teeth.

"I ain't stupid, Chris. I know what's what. I was supposed to be watchin' out for you and Ezra. I got distracted and now ya'll are payin' for it." He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the ragged wound before he tore a long piece from his own shirt and tied it around Chris' waist. Laying a restraining hand on the gunfighter's chest, he carefully pulled the fabric tight and waited for the cry he knew would come. It did. When Chris recovered, he told him, "They've really messed you up this time so move slow and breathe shallow 'til I can get what I need to patch you up proper."

"Nathan," Larabee said once he could speak again, "you know what I have to do."

"I know, Chris."

"So help me."

"I will, you have my word, but for the next few minutes I want you to rest easy and let us regroup." Nathan waited for the lawman to concede.

Chris closed his eyes and tried to lie on his side just long enough to stop the overwhelming need to throw up. Buck came around to help him, shedding his coat and folding it into a makeshift pillow. When he placed it beneath the blond's head, something fell from the pocket and hit the walk with a clatter. Chris attempted to open his eyes again without having them roll back into his head. It was difficult, but he managed to catch sight of something shiny resting just inches from his face. He reached a blood-stained hand across the decking until he could touch the glimmer and found his fingers curled instinctively around its shape as if they understood what it was even if his brain couldn't. He drew it closer and stared, then blinked and stared again. Suddenly he knew what he was holding and forced himself upright. "Where," he heaved in shock, "where did this come from?"

Buck saw Chris hold out his hand and unconsciously began patting his pockets. "Dang, I must've dropped it."

"You had it? H-how?" the gunfighter asked as the world began to spin around him.

"I found it just before I heard the explosions at the jail."

"Explosions? Buck, where the hell did you find this?" he groused, in no mood to pull every single detail from the man. "Tell me."

"I found it at the clinic, in a package Vin brought over from the General Store."

"A package?"

"Yeah, Mr. Hobson put together a bunch of medical supplies for Nathan and Vin brought the package to the clinic. I went to open it up and that fell out."

Vin came around to see. "What is it?"

Chris raised his hand and smiled.

The tracker looked into bright, fevered eyes. "Is that Ezra's?"

"Yes," he replied and laughed.

Worried at the unexpected response, Buck moved even closer. "Chris, what is it? What's so important about finding that little pea shooter?"

"Because, Buck," Chris said, cradling the gambler's Derringer against his chest, "this little pea shooter tells me where the Nichols are hiding. And I know exactly how to find Ezra."

TBC

A/N: Alrighty now, who knows where the Nichols have been hiding?


	25. Chapter 25

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 25**

Chris wiped a hand across his eyes when he felt the ground tilt beneath him. "Damn," he muttered, grateful he was already off his feet. "_Here, Chris_," he heard Nathan say just before the open mouth of a canteen touched his bottom lip. A canteen?

Nathan saw the query in his face and pointed to the wagon nearby. "Archie had some drinking water aboard," he answered, taking the gun from his slack fingers and handing it over to Vin.

Chris reached to take it back but Buck took him by the wrist and pushed his arm down. "Alright, pard, take it easy."

"No time," he grunted.

"You ain't told us yet how you know where the Nichols are," Buck said calmly.

"His gun…"

"Yeah, Chris, we can see its Ezra's gun. He probably dropped it when those boys cornered him. Somebody most likely found it after that and traded it for somethin' at the General Store. Hobson's always swappin' stuff with folks. He recognized it, since he was the one who ordered those fancy grips for it and sent it to the clinic knowin' we'd get it back to Ezra."

"No, Buck," Nathan corrected. "I seen the Nichols take that gun off him, he didn't drop it."

"Well then maybe someone found it at the hotel."

"N-no," Larabee said as determinedly as he could, considering his teeth were trying to chatter. He was beginning to feel cold. "I saw it…"

"_You_ saw it? Where?"

"The old lady… tried to shoot me with it… while I was cuttin' Ezra down." He paused for breath. "The last time I saw that thing… she was shovin' it in her pocket." He stopped again to swallow. "S-she had… Ezra's gun."

"So you think they're hidin' out at the General Store and Hobson smuggled us the gun to let us know," Vin said putting the pieces together. "Makes sense."

"But we've been in an out of the General Store several times the past couple o' days. We ain't seen hide nor hair of that family there."

Vin saw Chris' frustration. "Hold on, Buck, the Hobson's have rooms over the store. It'd be real easy for folks to hide up there without bein' seen."

"Not to mention," Nathan added, "they'd be able to see a large part of town from that angle."

"Damn," Buck exclaimed, "you mean they've been watchin' our every move?"

Chris nudged Wilmington's arm. "Probably still are, so move closer. I don't want 'em to see what's goin' on. Vin," he called, "when you were at the store, did you see anything… wrong?"

"Wrong? No. Hobson was pretty much as he's always been. Although now that I think about it, he was a little jumpy, he fell off his ladder when I walked in. He said he was just nervous about the Nichols shootin' up the town."

"Did you see his wife?"

"No, I asked about her. I think he said she was working in the back room."

"Has anybody seen her since?"

Vin looked at the others and they all agreed they hadn't.

"I'm bettin' they're holdin' her upstairs so they can keep Hobson in line." Chris felt a cough climb his chest but resisted the urge and lay as still as possible. "We gotta get over there before they start workin' on Ezra again."

"Hold on, Chris," Vin replied, "we can't just go rushin' in and hope to get Ezra out in one piece."

"Not to mention the Hobsons. We gotta be careful not to get them killed," Buck added.

"We aren't gonna rush in. The Nichols probably believe I'm dead, or near to it, so they might be rethinking their plans. That could buy us a little time to catch them, but it also gives them more time to hurt Ezra. I want Vin to go in and check the store out. Try to talk to Hobson, see if he'll give us any more clues as to what they're up to." Chris, quickly running out of steam, closed his eyes and laid back.

Buck watched worriedly. "How're ya doin', pard?"

"I'm… good."

"Sure you are. You look like hell."

"I'd say he looks worse than that," Vin said. "He looks about dead, don't he, Nathan?"

Jackson saw the tracker motion discreetly towards the General Store. He leaned over Chris, put an ear to his chest and pulled back with a look of sorrow on his face. "You're right, as dead as a man can be." He moved to the gunfighter's head, put a hand to his brow and winked before he closed Chris' fearful eyes.

Vin sidled nearer and whispered, "Just lie still, Chris, 'til we can get you outta here. We have to make it look good." He gently patted the motionless body before he turned to put an arm across Buck's shoulder. "We need to move him outta sight. Carry him like you're goin' to the undertakers but don't go in, circle back. Hank's body is still there and I don't want him to see it. Bring him to the jail; Nathan has a few supplies there so he can patch him up. I'll go ahead and tell JD and Josiah what's goin' on."

Buck hated to even pretend Chris was dead but knew it was the best way to keep him alive. He leaned down, gathered him once again in his arms, and hefted him off the sidewalk. The gunfighter sucked in a sharp breath and tensed before he finally went limp. "Hang on, buddy," Wilmington mumbled, genuinely upset. "I'll get ya some place safe… then we're goin' after Ezra."

Vin helped Nathan get to his feet as Buck walked away with Chris. He caught a glimpse of Larabee's face and wondered anxiously if Chris was faking death or if he'd passed out. He had a feeling it was the latter. "Take care of him, Nathan. He may not be dead now, but I got a feelin' he's gonna push it pretty close. Maybe you can come up with a way to keep him at the jail while Buck and I go after the Nichols."

"I already tried keepin' him off his feet," Jackson said, "and it just made things worse."

"Don't go blamin' yourself. I think even Chris realizes he forced you into that."

"I reckon. I'll see what I can do to slow him down some," the healer said, sparing only a glance for his burning clinic.

"I'm sorry, Nate."

"Me too," he sighed. "But right now there's no time to think on it. We need to figure a way of gettin' Ezra back with us, once and for all."

Vin gently turned Nathan towards the street. "Let's go then."

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Madeline Hobson sat on her bed and watched Mrs. Nichols stare out the window of the room she normally shared with her husband. _"Oh, Joseph, where are you?" _she wondered with concern. She hadn't seen him since she'd passed him the small gun she sneaked away from the old woman and was worried he may have been caught with it. Mrs. Nichols hadn't appeared to miss the weapon after claiming it belonged to Ezra Standish and that its one and only shot had been used in an attempt to kill his fellow lawman and friend, but it was hard to tell for sure. She was a conniving person, frighteningly deceptive by nature, and that made her more dangerous than her sons could ever hope to be, despite their clear disregard for life and penchant for evil doing. Still, she hadn't heard anyone mention the gambler's gun and prayed Joseph was keeping himself safe.

"Well now," Mrs. Nichols said, obviously pleased by something happening in the street below, "isn't that a sight to behold."

"Ma'am?" Madeline asked timidly.

"It appears the devil will need to make room tonight."

"What?"

"Your town's guardian angels have failed to protect their leader and are removing his body from the street."

"Mr. Larabee is dead?"

"Yes, and by all that's Holy, not a moment too soon."

"Oh no," Madeline whispered softly, "that poor man."

Mrs. Nichols stared out the window, savoring the sight of the lifeless form with its dangling limbs as it was carried slowly out of sight. "At last," she said, "it is as it should be -- both men responsible for the deaths of my children are dead themselves." She placed a hand over her heart and sighed.

"Ma!" her son Mark called from the hallway.

"Come in," she answered the rapid knocking.

Shoving the door open, Mark hurried into the room with a whirl of excitement. "Ma, you have to come downstairs!"

"Why? Is something wrong? Has something happened to one of your brothers?"

"No, Ma, Peter has a surprise for you!"

She gestured towards the window. "I already know about Chris Larabee."

"That ain't it! Just go downstairs and you'll see what I mean."

"Alright, alright, Mark, calm yourself." She walked to the door, curious as to what had him so wound up.

"What about her?" he asked about the woman still seated on the bed.

"Bring her along," she answered with a wave of her hand and marched towards the stairs. She descended the narrow steps quickly, but was careful to enter the main shop only after she made sure the windows were covered and the closed sign was in place. Mark came trotting along behind her, pulling Madeline by the arm. "Well what is it I'm supposed to be seein'?"

"Here, Ma," Peter called from the far side of the room. He sat on top of the main counter, leaning forward onto his hands so he could see the door to the back room. Joseph Hobson stood behind him, wringing his hands. "Okay, Luke, let's show Ma what we found."

The large brother entered carrying a bundle over his shoulder wrapped in what appeared to be a bed sheet. The old woman couldn't figure what her sons were up to but waited patiently for them to reveal their surprise. "You're very pleased with yourself, Peter," she said, and watched a huge smile cross his face.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered and jumped down from the counter. "Okay, Luke."

Luke grinned at his mother and dropped the bundle from his shoulder to the floor. It landed hard and spilled awkwardly when it hit. Mrs. Nichols moved forward and moved the sheet with her foot. She smiled. "Well I have to say, you boys have done me proud."

Madeline sought her husband's face and wondered if he knew what was going on. When she finally found his eyes, she knew he did. Hesitating only a moment, she leaned around the old woman and took a look for herself… then she screamed at what she saw. It was the broken body of Ezra Standish.

TBC

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed! It was such a treat to be able to say hello to so many new readers!


	26. Chapter 26

**On Your Horses, Boys**

**Part 26**

Madeline recovered quickly and dropped to the floor in front of Ezra, her hand seeking a way to offer comfort but faltering for fear of causing pain. "Mr. Standish," she cried, "can you hear me?"

He laid on his stomach, a folded arm pressed against his head as the feminine pleas above crowded his already overburdened mind.

"Oh Lord, what can I do, how can I help you?" she begged.

The sound of her voice, although frightened and strained, resonated soothingly in his ears. It was new to him, different from the screeches of the woman before, and oddly able to gently prod aside his desire to disappear from the face of the planet. He slowly raised his head and used his free arm to hold himself inches from the hard wooden floor. "Wh..?" he mouthed.

"What did you say?"

"Where?"

"You're at the general store. I'm Madeline Hobson, do you remember me?" She leaned closer until she was no more than a foot from his battered face.

He latched onto her concerned smile briefly before his eyes lowered and his head dipped slightly. "N-Nathan?"

It was apparent he didn't recognize her. In fact, she wasn't sure he recognized much of anything. "Mr. Jackson isn't here right now but I can try to find him for you," she replied, looking into the face of Peter Nichols and knowing that was the last thing she would be allowed to do. "Mr. Standish, Ezra, maybe I can help you. We could start by getting you off the floor." She reached a hand to him but he pulled away, lost his balance and fell flat. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Chris," he called, trying to raise himself again but only succeeding in scraping his bruised cheek on the floor. There was so much pain he couldn't think.

"Oh no," she whispered and fell back to sit on her heals. His friend was dead. She knew from the conversations among the Nichols family he had gone to great lengths to protect Chris Larabee. How could she possibly tell him now his friend had been murdered? She heard him call the gunfighter's name again and knew she couldn't do it; she couldn't take away the one hope he so obviously clung to. "It's alright, Ezra. I'll get Chris for you."

Peter came forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He leaned over to speak into Madeline's ear but made no effort to keep what he was saying a secret. "You do that, dear lady, and you may find your skirts singed by the fires of hell."

"Please," she begged softly.

"Please what? Please don't tell the poor lost soul laying on the floor his reason for defying me is gone? I have news for you, Mrs. Hobson. No man defies me and gets away with it. The only reason he's been alive as long as he has is because he's served a purpose. Now that his life is no longer of use to us, I think we should fill him in on the facts and then put him out of his misery."

"Of use to you?" Madeline nearly shouted. "He's not just a thing you use up and throw away!"

Joseph saw a scowl of disapproval on Mrs. Nichols face and took a step forward. "Maddie, no!" he warned his wife of her tone.

"Joseph, we can't let them hurt him. He's so sick and weak. His mind is…"

"Silence," the Nichols matriarch roared. "You, my good woman, will hold your tongue!"

"I will not! This man is broken; there is no reason to keep hurting him!"

Anger sparked through the old woman's eyes and Joseph moved quickly to his wife's side. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. "That's enough, Maddie."

She gave him a hard look of her own but relented and closed her mouth.

Peter, excited by the escalating clash of wills, laughed when Joseph reined Madeline in, and his mother, with all her bluster, appeared to be at a loss for words. The loss however was short-lived as a disturbing calmness fell over her face like the black veil of his weeper. "Four of my sons are dead, another is locked away like an animal and the remaining three seem to find humor when I am disrespected." She pinned each of her male children with an icy stare.

"No, Ma." Peter quickly sobered. "I didn't mean…"

"I have suffered this miserable town long enough." The statement was delivered with such rancor every person in the room fell silent… silent except for the mumbled words coming from the bandaged body at her feet. She raised the hem of her dress and hooked Ezra with her foot. Indifferent to the pain she caused she shoved him onto his back and gave him a kick for good measure. "My son was wrong about you, gambler. You do have one last useful task to perform." She looked him up and down, noting the sling and countless white strips of cloth holding him together. "Aye, but you'll not be performing it looking as you do. You were a much more interesting sight back at the hotel." She reached into the folds of her dress and removed the handkerchief she had stained with his blood. A frown pulled her lips into a hard line just as she toed him with her shoe. "Look at me!"

Ezra jerked at her shrieking voice and did as he was told… almost. His eyes were reluctant to open but he kept trying.

"Good," she said smugly. "I want you to listen to what I have to say." His eyes tried to roll back into his head. She kicked him again and forced him to focus on her scowling face. "I lost one child to Hank Connelly, may he burn in hell, but I've lost three more because of you and your ridiculous allegiance to Chris Larabee."

"C-Chris?" His head came up.

She huffed an airy laugh. "I see I have your attention now."

"I s-saw… Chris…"

"So did I," she snarled.

He didn't understand.

"I saw him dead in the street just outside."

"No," he whispered.

"Yes, I saw your colleagues carry his body away not ten minutes ago."

Ezra knew in his heart Chris was dead. He'd seen him with his own eyes… somewhere. But to hear it from the lips of a woman who had lied to him so many times made him hope against hope the gunfighter was still alive. Uncertain what to do, he looked around the room until he found a face he could trust.

Madeline, her gray eyes now brimming with unshed tears, caught him staring and knew she couldn't hide the truth. She bravely nodded her head but the look on his face was more than she could stand. She turned away and pressed her face to Joseph's shoulder.

Ezra closed his eyes and rolled painfully onto his side. Mrs. Nichols waited for the loss to sink in before she moved to her eldest son.

Peter saw the glint in her eye and the bloodstained handkerchief fisted in her hand. "Ma, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking its time to take back what is ours and leave this place. We're going to the livery."

"But Ma," Luke complained, "gettin' our coach back won't be easy. There're likely men all over the livery now that the clinic is on fire. One's right on top of the other."

"I hardly think anyone's botherin' with the livery if they're fighting a fire at the clinic. We need that coach to get your brother back."

"She's right," Peter said, "if we're gonna grab John away from that sheriff on the trail we'll need Uncle Simon's coach. It can take on any kind of wagon in any kind of terrain, but it's gonna be a rough trip. Are you well enough to make it, Ma?"

"I'm as well as I need to be."

"What about him?" he asked about the still body at his feet.

"Our broken man here will serve as a warning to anyone who's foolish enough to try and follow. He'll be the last message we leave this sorry excuse for a town."

"I don't know, Ma, I reckon he's a little too healthy looking to leave a proper message."

"Then I trust you'll take care of him," she said and turned away.

"Yes ma'am." He circled Ezra's body. "Hobson, get yourself over here and help me."

"What?" Joseph asked, confused.

"I want you to cut these bandages off and haul him outside."

"No," Madeline cried. "Please, leave Mr. Standish alone. Leave us alone."

Mrs. Nichols raised a hand to her hip. "I'm growing weary of you, Mrs. Hobson."

"You can't ask my husband to help you hurt another man. He's done everything else you've asked. Please, leave him be."

"Mark!"

"Yes, Ma?"

"Take Mrs. Hobson back upstairs."

Madeline backed away. "No, I'm not leaving my husband."

"Mark, take her upstairs, tie her down and gag her! I'll not listen to another word from her mouth!"

"Yes ma'am." He marched himself over, grabbed the middle-aged woman by the arm and dragged her away from the shopkeeper.

"Mrs. Nichols, I'm begging you," Joseph cried, "please don't hurt her."

"That's up to her, Mr. Hobson. If she behaves herself, she may just see tomorrow. Go Mark, and be quick about it."

Hobson gave his wife a look of _For-the-first-time-in-your-life-__**please**__-don't-let-your-heart-rule-your-head. __**Please**__-keep-your-mouth-shut!_ Whether or not she got the message was uncertain; she was gone before she could say another word.

"Now then, Mr. Hobson, do as you've been told."

Hearing the ugly rage brewing in her tone, Joseph unwillingly sank to his knees beside Ezra and rested a hand on the side of his head. He felt fever from the man's body radiate towards him and heard painful wheezes rattle in his chest. "Mr. Standish," he called softly.

The gambler raised his head at the sound but never opened his eyes. He groaned miserably, dropped again to the floor and mumbled over and over, "I'm sorry, Chris."

Hobson pulled his hand away and turned a solemn look on his captors. "Please, don't ask me to do this."

"I'm not asking you, Hobson, I'm telling you," Peter replied menacingly. "Cut those bandages off him now."

"Mr. Nichols, I…"

"Either you do it, or I will," Peter said as he pulled a small knife from inside his coat and handed it to the storekeeper.

Joseph knew he had no choice and took the weapon, nearly dropping it he was shaking so badly. He rolled Ezra to his back and carefully began removing the sling and bindings circling his upper body. When he was done, he rested the gambler's arms cautiously at his sides and pulled the dirty sheet securely around his waist. He glanced back over his shoulder to find all three men and the old lady staring at the poor man as if he were the main course at Thanksgiving dinner. It was both repulsive and terrifying.

"Good enough, Hobson," Peter announced, pleased. "Now let's get to the livery."

"I think I've changed my mind," Mrs. Nichols said unexpectedly with a dangerous growl. "Luke, you and Mark go get the coach and bring it here. Peter and I will be seeing to Mr. Standish's entertainment out back."

"Out back?" asked Peter.

"Yes, I seem to recall a large wood box across the alley." She noted the lack of daylight peaking around the front blinds. "Since nightfall is fast approaching, I think we'll take advantage of the shadows and prepare Mr. Standish properly for his final service to us. Mr. Hobson, gather him off the floor and move to the back door. Luke, you and your brother meet us around back as well. The law will most likely come into town from the north. They'll load John up and head out the same way before they head east. We'll ride the alley behind the buildings and catch up to them on the trail."

"Yes ma'am," both boys answered at once and obediently left the store.

Mrs. Nichols turned her gaze on Ezra, who was now being held upright by no other means than Joseph's breaking back and sheer determination to survive the night. "Now then, it's time to finish this. Peter, see to it you have what you need. Mr. Hobson," she waved a hand towards the door, "if you'll be so kind as to lead the way."

TBC

A/N: This part is for Maggie! A genuine Ezra lover! And to everyone who has read, reviewed and hung in there with me even when I'm slow to post, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!


	27. Chapter 27

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 27**

Vin and Buck walked softly as they tried to get a look inside the front windows of the General Store. The blinds had been drawn but Vin could just make out the glow of a lantern somewhere near the back.

"Anything?" Buck whispered.

"There's a light but I can't see anyone movin' round. Can't hear nothin' either."

"Maybe they're all upstairs."

"Could be. The door's locked so we're gonna have ta force it. Be ready to shoot once it opens."

Buck straightened as Vin raised his foot near the door handle and kicked. The door didn't budge. He kicked again, harder, and the lock bolt tore through the wood encasing it. They were inside in seconds, guns at the ready, but were greeted by nothing more than lamplight and silence. They waited and listened.

"Well that's strange. If they were upstairs surely they'd've heard us break in. Maybe Chris was wrong about the Nichols bein' holed up here."

"I don't think so," Vin replied as he moved to the rear of the store. "Let's go upstairs and take a look around."

Vin led, Buck followed. It took less than a minute to climb the steps leading to the private rooms of the Hobson family and when they reached the upper floor there was still no sign the Nichols had ever been there.

"Like I said," Wilmington repeated, "Chris just made a mistake."

"I don't know, Buck, he was so sure about the old lady havin' Ezra's gun. I…"

_Mmpphhff_.

Vin turned his head. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah."

_Mmmmpppfff!_

The two men moved down the hall and turned into a tiny alcove barely visible from where they had been standing. There they found a door. Buck slowly turned the knob and pushed his way inside. "Mrs. Hobson," he said when he spotted the woman bound and gagged in the middle of what appeared to be a small study. Books lined the walls on either side of her and she was tied to a chair that obviously belonged to the simple wooden desk at her back. No one else was in the room so he holstered his gun, hurried to her side and knelt down to free her hands and feet. "There now," he said as he pulled the gag away, "are you alright?'

"Yes, yes" she answered hoarsely, "I'm quite alright, thank you. I was beginning to think no one would find me."

Vin kept watch at the door. "Well I guess we know now Chris was right."

"Mrs. Hobson, did the Nichols do this to you?" asked Buck.

She rubbed her wrists. "Of course they did this to me! Those animals have been holding us prisoner here for days! Didn't you get the gun my husband sneaked to you?" She looked over Buck's shoulder. "Where is Joseph? Didn't you find him? He was with those men!"

Buck flinched. "Slow down, ma'am, and talk to us. We just found Ezra's Derringer late this afternoon."

"You haven't caught the Nichols yet, have you!" she shouted.

"No we haven't, so we need you to settle down and tell us what happened here."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. It's just I've been so scared. That old lady and her boys are crazy! The things they've done. The things they made my Joseph do."

Vin saw her shiver. "Your husband's the one who's been settin' the fires around town, ain't he?"

"Yes, Mr. Tanner, but he didn't want to. He cares about the people in this town; he wouldn't intentionally try to harm them."

"We believe you, ma'am," Buck interrupted, placing his hand on hers. "Vin's been sayin' all along the fires weren't set by the Nichols because there wasn't enough damage and no one was killed. Your husband made it look good and probably saved a lot of lives by settin' those fires himself."

Large tears filled her eyes. "But he didn't set that last fire, the one that killed Mr. Larabee."

Buck glanced at Vin and waited for him to nod his agreement before he spoke. "It's alright, Mrs. Hobson, Chris ain't dead."

"But Mrs. Nichols said she saw you carry his body away."

"We did, but he wasn't dead. We just wanted her and boys to think he was."

"He's alive?"

"Yes. We're hidin' him at the jail right now so Nathan can patch him up. He's hurt pretty bad, but he should be alright if we can get him to rest."

"Oh no," Madeline said.

"What is it?"

"Mr. Standish believes Mr. Larabee is dead."

"You saw Ezra?"

"A little while ago. A couple of Mrs. Nichols boys brought Mr. Standish in and presented him to her as a gift."

"A gift?" Vin moved into the room.

She tilted her head back to look at the tracker's worried face. "It was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. They treated him so poorly. He'd been so abused and was in so much pain I don't think he understood half of what was going on around him." She paused to wipe her eyes. "The only thing he did seem to understand was that your friend had died; the old woman made sure he knew that fact."

"Aw hell," Buck groused. "If Ezra thinks Chris is dead he may try somethin' stupid."

"Honestly, Mr. Wilmington, I don't think he'll be able to try much. He was in a bad way when they took him out of here. You boys have to go now."

"Did they say where they were goin'?"

"They said something about the livery and getting their property back."

"They're after that blasted coach," Buck said. "We'd best get ourselves over there and stop 'em."

"Please hurry," Madeline added. "I heard them planning to do something terrible to Mr. Standish. They were talking about leaving him as a warning to anyone who tried to stop them."

"Damn it, I'm gonna kill every single one of those bastards with my bear hands." Buck cried before he realized he'd spoken. He suddenly looked at Madeline.

"No need to apologize to me," she said. "I feel exactly the same way."

He smiled then reached beneath his coat. "Do you know how to handle a gun, ma'am?"

"My father had no sons, Mr. Wilmington, but he had a daughter who was very eager to learn."

He handed over his belly gun and watched her take it, check it for ammunition and slip it into the pocket of her apron.

"Now go," she said, "and don't come back until you've rescued my husband and Mr. Standish."

Buck tipped his to her and followed Vin out of the room.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Ezra felt hands gripping him painfully around his middle. He also felt motion as the person who owned the hands propelled him forward. Both the contact and the movement caused a churning in his stomach that threatened to strangle him as the burn scaled his throat. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't swallow, and most importantly he couldn't stop whoever it was who had him. His body was out of his control and what was left of his mind was fast following suit.

He wanted desperately to be still, to just lie down and rest, to drift away from the hurt in his limbs and the anguish of his mind. Truth be known, he was ready to give up. He couldn't remember the details of what had brought him to this point, but the pain in his heart was so overwhelming it didn't really matter. He simply wanted it all to end, so he blindly turned to the person at his side and begged exactly that. "P-please… stop… jus'…lemme…go."

The unfamiliar person carrying him replied as if out of breath. "You hang on, Mr. Standish. Don't you give in to them. Don't let them win."

"Can't."

"You have to. You're too good a man to die at their hands." The heavy panting continued as the forward motion slowed to a stop. "I'm hopin' your friends find us soon, so please try to be here when they come."

Then the gambler remembered a single detail and felt his chest tighten. "Chris 's dead…"

"But you're not. So please, try to hang on."

_That's far enough! _Ezra heard just before he was lowered forward over something rough and hard.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Buck and Vin left the General Store as quietly as they'd entered and nearly jumped out of their skins when a figure ran towards them from the shadows.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's just me."

"Nathan? What the devil are you doin' here? You're supposed to be tendin' Chris," Buck asked.

"Chris is out cold. He never came around after you picked 'im up off the street so I did what I could and left Josiah and JD to watch him. I figured ya'll could use some help."

"That we can," Vin said. "We found Mrs. Hobson tied up upstairs. She said the Nichols are headin' towards the livery to get that buggy of theirs. Ezra's with 'em."

"Not for much longer he ain't," Nathan replied angrily. "Let's go."

TBC

A/N: Thanks to all who read and review! And a big hello to my friends at the new Yahoo Group: Gamblers and Gunfighters!


	28. Chapter 28

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS **

**Part 28**

Luke gathered a fist full of hay to wipe the blood from his pistol grips. "Looks like they only had two guards watchin' the place."

Mark holstered his weapon at the same time staring at the two unconscious men on the ground near the back entrance of the livery. He hadn't hit his man hard enough to draw blood and wondered briefly about the man his brother had taken out. "He dead?" he asked.

"Don't know," Luke replied uninterested, "but he won't be goin' anywhere anytime soon." He stepped over the sentry and moved towards the shadows in the far corner of the building. "Here," he announced when he spotted the family coach.

Mark followed his brother. "Where d'ya reckon they hid the harnesses?"

"Not much tellin' but they're probably not far. Check the loft; I'll dig through the tack room and the hay piles." He raised his head to the sounds of men yelling and coughing. He could also hear boots running across wood boards nearby. When he noticed Mark had stopped to listen as well, he called out, "Be quick about it before someone decides to come in here."

Mark hurried up the ladder to the loft and began moving bales of hay. Luke went to work searching the small room below. When he didn't find anything, he exited in a huff. Then he heard his sibling's voice.

"Hey, Luke," he said, hanging over the garret, "I found 'em!" He gave a toothy grin as he waved a bridle in the air.

"Good. Get everything down here," he ordered. "I'll fetch the horses."

Mark dove back into the hay and gathered every piece of leather he could find.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

"I said 'that's far enough,'" Mrs. Nichols shouted, her temper obviously short. "Now be puttin' him where I told you."

Joseph hefted Ezra's weight against his hip one last time before he lowered him forward across the wood box opposite the alleyway from the General Store. Bent at the waist, his knees sinking painfully into the ground, Ezra drew his right hand over the planked top of the box and curled it to his chest. Hobson heard him mumble incoherently and groan as he struggled to raise his head, then the shopkeeper turned to the woman at his back. "Please ma'am, he's hurt so bad he doesn't even know what's goin' on. Maybe you could just leave him here for his friends to find."

"He has a job to do, Mr. Hobson, as do you."

"Pardon?"

"I believe you heard me inside; he will be the means by which we teach your town's protectors the consequences of their actions. You attack my family, Mr. Hobson, and you die."

The threat wasn't lost on him.

"Your job will be to make certain he doesn't come off that box 'til I say so. Do you understand?" she asked, reaching her hand toward Peter. Her son pulled the bloodstained whip from his coat and laid its baton across her pale fingers.

Joseph's eyes grew large when he saw the weapon that had been used on Ezra on the hotel steps. He mustered as much bravery as he could and slowly placed himself between the kneeling gambler and the woman who intended to beat him again. "I'm begging you, please don't do this."

Mrs. Nichols frowned at the shopkeeper's defiance but didn't speak. Instead Peter raised his gun and pointed it toward Joseph's chest. "Move, Hobson. Trust me when I say you don't want to be standing there."

The old lady pulled the leather tails of the whip through her fingers but Joseph stood his ground.

Peter moved around his mother and aimed his gun at Ezra's head. "We can do this my way or yours. My way leaves him just this side of breathin'. Your way finishes him right away."

He wasn't sure what to do. How could he hold a man down while he was being thrashed? But if the gambler could hang on long enough for his friend's to find him, he might actually survive. Who was he kidding? He knew the poor man would never make it through another beating. He remained where he stood.

"I should also mention," Peter said with a sickening smile, "the stakes haven't changed. If you don't do exactly as you're told, that feisty little wife of yours will die as well."

That decided it. Joseph dropped his chin and stepped aside.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Madeline paced her husband's study. Well, 'paced' was a bit of an exaggeration since the room was so small, but she nearly wore a hole in the rug with her constant fidgeting. She was worried, for her husband, for Mr. Standish and for the whole town of Four Corners. After the nightmarish turmoil the Nichols Family had brought to their community, she wondered if it would ever be the same. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She plopped herself down in Joseph's favorite chair with a sigh then jumped when something heavy fell into her lap. "Oh Maddie, you idiot," she chided herself and reached into her apron to remove the gun Buck had given her. She stared at it long and hard before she said out loud, "Well, you can sit here like a doddering old lady or you can get yourself out there and help your husband." The decision was made before she even completed her sentence. She gripped the large gun in her hands and elbowed her way out the door.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

The scene in the alley was the most evil thing Joseph Hobson had ever seen. It was inconceivable that an old lady would even be able to hold such a vile thing as a whip much less use it to inflict pain and draw blood while her son stood by and watched. And her victim, a man who could do her no harm, had never really done her any harm, suffered so badly he could do little more than whimper. Joseph felt the gambler's agony though his own hands. He could feel not only the tremors in Ezra's muscles, but the slap of the whip every time it struck the man's flesh. He forced himself to look closer at the Southerner. His face was reddened by both fever and exertion, his teeth were clenched, his jaw was set, his eyes were… Joseph looked away. The man's eyes were blind with fright and brimming with tears. _Please stop! _He screamed in his head but the whipping never slowed. Joseph thought for sure the old lady would tire, but she showed no sign of weakening. In fact, she seemed determined to vent every moment of anger she'd ever known on the pitiful soul over the wood box.

He was drawn again to the face next to his when he realized the soft cries he had been listening to had stopped. "Mr. Standish," he whispered, but the man he held on to was past hearing. There was something different about him, something much more frightening in his demeanor. His face, though still reddened beneath the many bruises, had gone slack. And his eyes, still open and blind, were now vacant, the wetness they had held dripping a tear at a time onto the slats of the crate. At first he thought the gambler had passed on, died in grasp, but the quivering beneath his hands never ceased. He considered calling to him again, but knew wherever his mind had gone it was in a much better place than where his body lay. He cursed himself for his part in the man's torture and did what he should have done in the beginning -- he let him go. "God forgive me," he prayed softly and watched Ezra's body slide to the ground.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Madeline was careful to check every room she passed in the hallway so no one could sneak up behind her. Her father had taught her well. What her father hadn't taught her was how to stifle the terrible case of nerves which threatened to send her screaming into the street; that she had to learn all on her own. And she did. No one knew better than she this was no time to be squeamish. She had to find her husband and she had to be on hand to help him if he needed her.

Quickly she walked down the hall; grateful for the bulky carpet she had convinced Joseph to bring along when they came out west. Its thick fibers efficiently absorbed the sound of her footfall as she made her way towards the stairs. Eventually however, the rug ran out and she became much more aware of her movement as she headed toward the darkness of the shop below. She took one step and listened, then took another step and did the same. She repeated the act a half dozen times until she came to the bottom of the staircase. There she heard a noise. She held her breath and waited for the noise to sound again. It didn't disappoint her.

Raising her gun in front of her, she moved away from the safety of the steps and hid herself in a part of the store not lit by the lantern on the back counter. She put off breathing again until the noise became clearer. Finally she realized what she was hearing was a male voice groaning. Was it Joseph? Had he escaped and come back for her? "Who's there?" she asked nervously. When a harsh cough replied she almost pulled the trigger.

"Mrs. Hob…" the cougher began.

"Who are you?" she demanded from the shadows.

"I'm sorry… ma'am…"

Madeline's curiosity got the better of her when she thought she recognized the voice. She pulled away from her hiding place, and with her gun cocked and raised, neared the shadow of a man leaning heavily against the flour bin. When the shadow raised its head, a face came into the light. "Mr. Larabee?" She lowered the hammer on the gun and rushed to his side. "Mr. Larabee, what on earth are you doing here?"

Chris, clad only in black pants, an open shirt and a bandage around his middle, tried to answer without choking. "I'm lookin' for Ez…" he managed to say before he was cut off by another cough.

"Mr. Standish isn't here. The Nichols took him away a little while ago. Oh look at you; you're in no shape to be going after those men. You can barely stand." She tucked the gun in her apron, moved under his arm and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Come sit down."

He allowed her to move him to a chair but grabbed her hand when she began to fuss. "T-there's no time, Mrs. Hobson. I have to find Ezra before they kill him."

She knelt down in front of him and pulled his shirt open. "Your friends have gone to do just that. Now let me see this wound."

"I'm okay."

"Not all that long ago I thought you were dead, so just humor me and let have a look. I thought you were supposed to be in Mr. Jackson's care at the jail."

"I left."

"I can see that. How did you get all the way here without anyone stopping you?"

He winced at her touch. "The sheriff from Eagle Bend came in."

She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "So while everyone was distracted, you just walked away. That doesn't speak well for your fellow lawmen, Mr. Larabee."

"Our prisoner didn't wanna go. He started puttin' up a fight."

"And you took advantage of the moment to sneak yourself over here."

"I knew you and Mr. Hobson were in trouble… Ezra still is. I gotta go," he said, shoving himself off the chair. He made it to his feet but staggered into the counter.

Madeline moved along with him. "I know you want to save your friend, but you're not well enough to…"

"Don't," he said through his teeth. "I'm not listenin'."

"That's very apparent, Mr. Larabee, but what I was going to say is you're not well enough to go after them alone."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I'm going with you."

"No," he said flatly, "I ain't puttin' a woman in danger. There's no way I'm lettin' you go after the Nichols."

"Mr. Larabee, just where do you think I was heading when I came down those stairs? Joseph is my husband and I go where he goes."

"Goin' after bad guys and stirrin' up a fight is not something a woman should be doin'."

"It was a woman who started this whole thing!" she shouted, her chin held high and her hands on her hips.

"I said no, Mrs. Hobson. Just tell me if you know where they took Ezra." He straightened and glared.

She opened her mouth to disagree but was interrupted by a sharp cry coming from the back of the store. "Joseph?" she mumbled before she stepped away from Chris. "Joseph," she said again and made a run for the back door.

"No," Chris ordered as he grabbed her around the waist, put a hand over her mouth and pulled her back to the counter. "Be quiet. If you don't want to get your husband killed, don't make a sound."

Contrary to her nature, Madeline fell silent.

TBC

A/N: This part is for Jami, who in contrast, is amazingly gentle in her support!


	29. Chapter 29

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 29**

Madeline squirmed against the heat of Chris' ailing body. How was he even upright, much less preventing her from going to her husband? Frustrated, she tried to speak against his palm but he merely tightened his grip and waited for her to settle down. "Be still, Mrs. Hobson," he warned her in a low voice. When his breath blew across her ear, she froze. "I need you to stay quiet until we find out what's going on. Can you do that?"

She nodded slowly and waited for him to remove his hand. "That was Joseph," she whispered. "Please let me go to him."

"Was he with the Nichols when they left?"

"He had to be."

"Why?"

"They needed him to carry Mr. Standish. They were…" she looked down.

"Mrs. Hobson?"

"They had plans for Mr. Standish."

Chris closed his eyes for several seconds before he took Madeline gently by the arms. "Tell me what you know."

"Mrs. Nichols wanted to get that horrible contraption of hers from the livery and leave Four Corners. I thought that would be a good thing until she said they were going to take Mr. Standish with them."

"Well that yell we heard didn't come from the livery. They're out back."

She rested a hand on his. "Please, I have to find Joseph. If they've hurt him…"

"Don't worry. I'm puttin' a stop to the Nichols right now." He stepped around her on his way to the back door. "Stay here and be quiet."

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Mark hastily checked the rigging on the horses before he threw the reins up and climbed on board the coach. "Luke," he called, "you ready to get on outta here?" He leaned over the side when he heard his brother cursing below.

"I don't believe it! They ran off with every firearm we had hidden in here!" Luke shoved the door aside and jumped down.

"Well we don't have time to find 'em, Ma'll be waiting."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. I tell you what; you ride 'round to pick up Ma and Peter. I'll nose around and meet you there."

"Ma ain't gonna like that. When she's ready to go she means now."

"She won't like it if we go back without our guns either. Just get a move on!"

"It's your hide. I know I wouldn't want to…"

"_You boys lose somethin'?" _Both men looked up to see Buck Wilmington standing near the exit of the livery with his sidearm leveled at Luke. Mark made a play for his gun but Vin and Nathan came into view with their guns drawn and ready to fire. "I wouldn't," Buck advised.

"Where's the stuff you stole from us?" Luke yelled.

"Confiscated, not stole. There's a difference."

"How d'ya figure?" Mark asked.

"You're wanted for murder. In the eyes of the law, any firearms you're carryin' should be," Buck paused and glanced at Vin. "What's that word Ezra likes to use when he don't wanna say he stole somethin'?"

"Appropriated," Vin answered snidely.

"You don't have anything on us," Luke replied. "We ain't murdered nobody."

"You murdered a good friend of mine, you sick son-of-a-bitch, when you torched that clinic. You shot his father-in-law in the street. You killed a man outside o' town named Aubrey Candler whose only mistake must've been he didn't answer you quick enough. And I ain't forgettin' you tortured another friend of mine who'd damn well better be breathin' when you take me to him."

"I ain't takin' you no place."

"I'd rethink that if I were you 'cause it's the only reason I ain't puttin' a bullet in ya where ya stand."

Luke stumbled back a couple of steps when Buck moved forward.

"Wait," Mark cried from atop the carriage, but Buck was in no mood to listen.

"I ain't waitin' for you to kill again," the ladies man growled. He made a rush for Luke but the large man reached inside his coat and pulled a knife. A single slice through the air caught Buck across the knuckles, and a boot behind the knee sent him to the ground.

"Get in," Mark shouted to his brother.

Luke fumbled his way into the belly of the coach and slammed the door. "Go, go, go!"

Vin and Nathan, blocked by Wilmington's tall frame, weren't able to make a shot until he fell to the ground. By that time their bullets merely ricocheted off the armored exterior of the coach as it made its escape out the livery doors.

"Damn it," Buck roared, clutching his hand to his chest. "Get after them!" Nathan tried to help but was shoved away for his trouble. "I'm alright! Just get those bastards!"

Vin was already at the door to the alley. "Nathan, throw me your rifle!"

The healer complied and fell into step behind Vin as he ran into the street. "You see 'em?"

"I hear 'em," Tanner answered. "Sounds like they're near the church."

"They're leavin' town?"

"I doubt it, more like they're circlin' it." He caught sight of the coach. "There!" He pointed out by aiming his rifle. He followed the driver with the weapon and fired.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

Joseph couldn't take any more. He scrambled to his feet and once again placed himself between Mrs. Nichols and Ezra when it became clear she wasn't going to stop beating the gambler despite the fact he laid as still as death at her feet. "Please, stop," he shouted with his hands raised.

"You weren't given permission to let him go, Mr. Hobson, and you certainly weren't given leave to interfere in my business," she bellowed. "Now move!" She turned the lash on him.

The shopkeeper yelped when he felt the bite of the whip and eyed the old lady with contempt. "You have to stop this!"

"I said 'move!'" She raised her whip again.

"Mrs. Nichols, you're beating a dead man," Hobson cried in desperation.

She paused to catch her breath. "Peter, take a look."

Her son motioned Hobson away with his gun before moving to straddle Ezra. He squatted, nearly sitting on the lifeless body before he snaked a hand around to feel for a pulse or a breath.

"You had better pray he really is dead," she snarled at Joseph, "or you'll be finding yourself in that condition very soon."

"_And you_, _you sadistic sister to Satan,_" a dangerous voice growled at her back, "_had better pray he isn't."_

She whirled around and searched the shadows near the store. "Who's there?"

The barrel of a Colt Peacemaker entered the moonlight ahead of a bloody hand.

Peter stiffened at the sight and rested his gun on Ezra's back. "Well look at that. It appears the dead have risen."

Chris stepped into the meager moonlight.

"You!" Mrs. Nichols snapped. "You're dead. I saw you die in the street!"

"You saw what you wanted to see," he replied and stepped closer.

"No."

He looked at the man stooped over behind Peter. "Mr. Hobson, you okay?" Once Joseph nodded his head,

Chris followed Peter's arm to Ezra. "Get away from him, Nichols."

"I don't think so."

"I heard what Hobson said. You can't hurt him any more so just move away."

"Yeah well, the store clerk doesn't know what he's talking about. The gambler here's about as dead as you are."

Chris felt his heartbeat quicken. Was Ezra still alive? The way the gambler looked it was almost too much to hope for. He took another step nearer, careful to keep his gun aimed directly at Peter. "I told you to back off."

"Stand your ground, son," Mrs. Nichols ordered.

Peter obeyed, moving further up Ezra's body until his legs were astride the Southerner's tattered bare back.

Chris' anger at the move slowly gave way to light-headedness. He steadied himself. "Seems you just can't make a move without your ma, can you?" he said sarcastically.

Nichols looked as if he'd been sucker punched.

"Then again, bein' unable to think for yourself it must be comforting havin' someone tell you what to do all the time." Chris' vision blurred a moment before a wave of dizziness washed over him.

"You don't know what you're talkin' about."

He swallowed against the nauseating feeling in his stomach and continued. "You've had what, three brothers to die in the past few days because they had no mind of their own. Don't you reckon it's about time to step up and be a man before you end up the same way?"

"Why I oughtta…"

"Peter," his mother called, "don't be lettin' him goad ya."

"See what I mean? She's one bossy bitch," Chris said in as nasty a tone as he could muster in an effort to distract them from the trembling in his gun hand.

"Shut up, damn you!"

Chris could see Peter waver between heeding his mother's words and strangling the gunfighter with his bare hands. He pushed harder. "Grow a backbone, Nichols!"

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Peter yelled angrily.

Mrs. Nichols knew instantly what Larabee was up to. "Peter, don't!" She raised her whip in the air and lunged at the gunfighter.

"You heard me, you spineless piece of…" Chris shouted just as the leather talons of her whip bit into the soft skin of his cheek and neck.

In a single motion, Peter came to his feet, raised his gun and fired.

Chris was sent backwards by the force of the old woman's heavy frame but managed to twist away from her before he hit the ground. Despite his body's less than healthy condition, he rolled quickly and smoothly before he scrambled into the dark cover of night. When he looked back, he saw the Nichols matriarch raising herself off the ground in the middle of the alley, hand fisted beneath her collarbone. It wasn't until she hoisted herself upright he saw she had been shot through the shoulder.

Peter blanched when he realized what he had done. "Ma!" he cried. "Oh my God, Ma, I'm sorry!" He left Ezra and Hobson by the wood box and ran to her side. Keeping his gun at the ready, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and timidly pressed it to her wound. "Why did you do that? I was aiming for him! Why did you get in the way?"

"He was lurin' ya away… from the gambler," she said with a wheeze.

"I don't care about that stupid gambler."

"He was the only thing stopping Larabee… from shooting us."

The old woman gasped but managed to keep herself erect. "I'm… I'm all right. Just find him. Kill him. I want Chris Larabee… dead this time. You hear me?"

"Ma?"

"Do you hear me?"

The anger that shook her body flowed into him. "Yes, Ma!" He reached deep inside his coat and pulled a second gun. "Take this," he said, and placed it in her hand.

Chris tried to stifle the pain that had erupted in his belly when he landed but there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He bit his lip, pressed a hand over the wound and dragged himself behind the base of a very large and very dead old tree. He propped himself against it and pulled his gun across his lap. He could see it, lying loosely in his grip, but he could barely feel it.

"Larabee!" he heard Peter shout. "It's time you and I finish this!"

He couldn't agree more. He just wished he had the strength.

"You talk about bein' a man. How about you come on out and face _me_ now?" Peter searched the shadows for his prey.

Chris' ego bristled at the words but his body wasn't impressed; it wanted to rest and to hell with the insults.

"You either come out here and face me or I'll go over there and finish your friend once and for all." Nichols glanced over his shoulder to see Hobson ministering to the gambler's unconscious body.

Chris knew he had to pull himself together despite his body's objections so he climbed the tree at his back. The blood rushed from his brain and sent his senses reeling as the sound of distant thunder boomed inside his head.

"I'm warnin' you, Larabee."

The roar in his ears was making it difficult to hear Peter's ranting.

"Get out here, you coward!"

Well that he heard. He clung to the tree and took a look around. He spotted Peter darting in and out of the shadows. In the middle of the alley, Mrs. Nichols was getting to her knees. Great, the old biddy didn't have the decency to stay down even with a bullet in her. Hobson was off to his left desperately trying to rouse Ezra. Chris shook his head against the low rumble filling his ears and slowly began to wonder if the sound was coming from inside his aching brain or from somewhere else in the alley. He looked the area up and down… nothing.

"Larabee!"

_Enough, _he thought. _If the son-of-a-bitch wants to finish it then let's do it! _He raised his gun and pushed himself away from his support. "Nichols!" he returned the hail.

Peter rounded on the summons and fired in its direction. Chris felt a shot pass within inches of his head and at the same time heard another bullet kick off the tree trunk behind him. He saw Hobson, out of the corner of his eye, fall flat across Ezra on the ground while Peter maneuvered deeper into the blackness to find him. All hell was breaking loose and all he could do was duck into the darkness and reload. He fumbled with his gun, having to prop it against his thighs to hold it steady, but he managed to replenish its bullets just as Peter skidded to a stop at his feet. He watched his enemy's eyes light with discovery and knew the time had come for one of them to die.

"It's over, Larabee. You're mine," Peter boasted.

Chris didn't take the time to reply or aim. He simply tilted his weapon upward between his knees and fired. Peter jerked and stumbled backwards.

"Peter!" Mrs. Nichols screamed when she saw her son stagger into the moonlight with his hands clutching his chest.

"M-ma?" he called in disbelief with lips that spewed his life's blood. He stared at the red soaking his fingers only a moment before he dropped to the ground in a boneless heap.

"Peter!" She tried to go to him but was so weakened by her own injury she could do little more than sway on her knees. "What have you done?" She howled into the night. "What have you done?"

Chris ignored her, wearily running a hand over his face as he pulled himself to his feet and made his way to Ezra. The roar in his ears was gaining intensity and fast becoming all-consuming until yet another sound joined the chaos. A sound he knew better than any man should -- a familiar click. He lowered his hand and looked over his shoulder to see Mrs. Nichols pointing a cocked Remington revolver in his direction. Although he couldn't be certain, he had a feeling it was the second time in the past few days one of Ezra's guns had been aimed in his direction.

"You have murdered for the last time, Chris Larabee," she screamed as she tried to steady the weapon with both hands.

"Put it down," he said.

"You and yours have taken the last child you're goin' ta take from me."

"Your _child_ was long past saving, old lady. He and his brothers have held an entire town hostage for days now. You've killed, tortured and destroyed everything you've touched. Why? For what reason?"

"All we wanted was Hank Connelly. All this precious town of yours had to do was turn him over."

"So you could kill him."

"Yes. He had to die for what he did."

"He did die."

"Not soon enough!"

"You mean not in your own time. You would have liked to have tortured him like you did Ezra."

She lowered her eyes to the gambler's unmoving form. "He had to pay for letting Connelly escape… and pay he did," she said coldly and dropped her aim to him.

Chris took a step sideways to shield Ezra.

Mrs. Nichols glared. "Now look at that. You do make a practice of protecting the worthless, don't you?"

"He's a friend."

"A friend is it?" She laughed. "Does he know that?"

He frowned.

"Would you like to know something about your friend? He gave up on you, early on I might add. It took very little on our part to convince him you'd leave him to die. It made his time with us that much better."

Chris let his eyes wander to the Southerner's face.

"Every time we cut into him, we reminded him you weren't coming. Every time we whipped him, he knew he was on his own. He suffered, Chris Larabee. Your friend suffered because of you!"

The gunfighter felt rage fill his very soul, but the sickness that filled his body was the real threat now. He had to get Ezra to Nathan and he simply didn't have the time or the strength to deal with a maniacal old woman with bereavement issues. He watched her hands shake and knew if she didn't pull the trigger by intent she'd shoot him with her trembling. "There's been enough suffering to go around. Put the gun down."

"No."

He was about to repeat himself when he heard the rumbling noise return. He pressed his hands to his ears and shook his head.

"I want you to die," Mrs. Nichols growled as she raised her aim to his chest. "I want you to burn in hell."

The noise was getting louder but this time he didn't think it was coming from inside his own brain. He looked around, searched the shadows with tired eyes, and then he saw it, there at the edge of town, spilling from the darkness like a demon from hell. The Nichols coach rushed forward in the alley, a single man on the driver's bench flailing long leather reins at horses that were stampeding out of control. He turned to the old lady and yelled as loud as he could, "Get out of the way!" He couldn't hear her reply above the thunder of hooves. "Move, damn you! Move!"

The fury she felt froze her to the spot. Over and over she repeated, "Burn in hell, burn in hell," as her hands shook and her aim faltered. So determined was she to shoot him, she didn't see the horses bearing down on her until it was too late.

Chris heard her cry out when she realized she couldn't get out of the way. Heard her scream as the horses' hooves trampled her body into a broken jumble of bone and flesh. Heard the unforgettable sound of her dying gurgle as the wheels of her beloved coach crushed her remains with unforgiving force. He heard it all despite the roar of the heavy coach, the clamor of the buggy's gear, the snorts of frightened animals and the frantic stomping of their turbulent gate.

The coach stormed past and disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind dust and silence and little remorse. Chris stared without moving for several moments as the old woman's terror echoed in his mind. It was over, she was dead, and he wanted to be sick. But the sound of men running forced him once again to gather his gun and fight. He dropped beside Ezra and readied himself for one last battle. No less than three men ran towards him as he cocked his weapon.

"Careful there, pard," Buck said, his hands in the air when he saw his friend. "It's just us."

The gunfighter hesitated.

"Chris?"

Weary green eyes looked up to see Buck, Vin and Nathan step around the bloody mess that had been Mrs. Nichols. He squinted just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Chris, it's us."

His shoulders slumped and his gun dropped to the ground.

Buck pushed it away with his foot and squatted down. "It's okay, pard, we got 'em."

Chris smoothed a hand over the back of Ezra's head and mumbled, "'Bout time."

"Yeah, I know. You okay, buddy?"

"No," he answered softly and fell unconscious alongside the man he had tried so hard to save.

TBC

A.N: Hello everyone! I apologize for the extreme delay in posting, but I had surgery two weeks ago and I'm afraid the doctors frowned on my having a shootout in my hospital room. Go figure! I realize it might have gotten a little messy what with the large coach and all, but hey, look at all the business I drummed up for them. Seriously, I hope everyone enjoys this installment of the story. If you don't, we'll blame it on the drugs. If you do, we'll still blame it on the drugs! Thanks for reading and reviewing! Jordan


	30. Chapter 30

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 30**

"God Almighty," Josiah mumbled when he first laid eyes on the carnage behind the general store. Nathan, along with Joseph and Madeline Hobson, were huddled on the ground around a body the preacher recognized as Ezra by his bandaged feet and bare legs. Buck was struggling with a semiconscious and somewhat argumentative Chris. The body of Peter Nichols lay face down in the dirt, apparently dead. And his mother, whose first name Josiah had never thought to ask, most definitely lay dead in a mangled mass of flesh and bone.

"Josiah," Buck hollered as he made a grab for Chris' floundering hands. "Get over here and help me!"

Sanchez moved quickly. He gathered the gunfighter's hands, pinned his wrists together and pressed them to his chest. "What the hell's been happenin'?"

"Chris has been happenin'," Buck replied.

"I've been lookin' for him. He snuck outta the jail when the men from Eagle Bend arrived but he was so sick I didn't think he'd've been able to make it all the way back here."

Larabee's head jerked back against Buck's shoulder. "Easy, pard," Wilmington said.

Josiah shook his head. "Did he do all this?"

"Most of it from what Hobson told me, but he didn't do that," he motioned with his chin towards Mrs. Nichols. "Two of her boys were tryin' to drive that buggy of theirs 'round to pick her up. Evidently they lost control and ran her down."

"God in Heaven. So how's Ezra?"

"Nathan's checkin' him now."

"And Chris?"

"Passed out right after we got here."

"He ain't out now."

"No, but he ain't quite come to neither."

Josiah put a palm to the gunfighter's face. Fevered eyes shied away but couldn't avoid the touch. "He's even hotter than he was back at the jail. How'd he make it all the way here on his own?"

"You know Chris," Buck answered.

The preacher gave a half-hearted smile before he heard Vin call out from somewhere down the back alley.

"Go on, sounds like Vin's found somethin'. Could be the last two Nichols boys."

Josiah pulled one of Buck's hands over Chris'. "You got him?"

"Yeah, I got 'im. Go help Vin."

Sanchez climbed to his feet, gave the group huddled around Ezra a worried look then took off in Tanner's direction.

"Nathan?" Buck called when he finally got Chris settled against him. "How's he doin'?"

Nathan was on the ground next to Ezra's head checking for a pulse, a breath or any other sign he might be alive. "He's bad, Buck, real bad. They beat him and whipped him again."

"Damn it. You think you can help him?"

"I don't know. His fever's outta control, his wounds from before are lookin' infected and these new cuts on 'im are bleeding pretty bad. He's been hurt so long now, I don't know if he's got it in him to keep fightin'."

Madeline wiped at the cuts on Ezra shoulder with the clean folds of her skirt. "He'll fight, Mr. Jackson, I know he will." Nathan saw Joseph wrap an arm around her and squeeze. She hugged him back. "It seems to me he and Mr. Larabee have each come a long way to save the other. The last thing the Nichols did to him was tell him his friend was dead; we need to convince him they lied. If he thinks Mr. Larabee still needs him, he'll fight."

Nathan stared at her, encouraged by her determination.

"What do you need?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and organized his thoughts. "We need to bathe him. If we could get him to the bathhouse, we could wash his wounds and cool him off at the same time. If we don't get this fever down his body's gonna give out."

"There's no need to take him to the bathhouse," Joseph announced. "There's a tub in storage in the back of the store. I'll get someone to help me move it and have Archie haul in some water."

"You have a tub?"

"One of the perks of running a general store, Mr. Jackson," Madeline said and left it at that.

Nathan looked surprised.

Madeline looked suddenly alarmed. "Oh dear."

"What is it?"

"Your clinic, it was on fire. Although I'm sure we have a few of the medicines and supplies you'll need, I'm not sure we have everything."

"That's alright, Mrs. Hobson. I have some supplies at the jail. I'm sure I can make do."

"Well until we know more about the condition of your clinic, would you like to work here at the store? We have plenty of room."

"That's kind of ya to offer, ma'am, but I reckon it'd be best to tend Ezra back at his place."

"At the saloon?" she asked doubtfully.

"His room's not so bad. It may be over the saloon, but it's quiet and clean and large enough for me to take care of both him and Chris. It's also familiar to Ezra, so if he wakes up he might fret less if he's in a place he knows."

"If?"

"When," Nathan corrected himself.

She smiled.

"Besides, now that the threat of the Nichols is over folks are gonna need you and Mr. Hobson to supply them with goods." He eyed the gambler sadly. "We just need to get Ezra, the tub and the water to his place."

Madeline jumped to her feet and ran inside the store. When she returned she carried two patchwork quilts. "Here, Mr. Jackson," she said and once again knelt down. She handed Nathan one of the quilts and spread the other on the ground. She then tugged at the filthy sheet clinging to Ezra's hips and pulled it away. If she was affected by the condition of his body or his lack of clothing, she never let on. She merely rested a hand to the side of his head and spoke to him as if to a child "Now you listen to me, young man. We're going to take good care of you and you're going to get better. I've bragged to your friends how tough you are, so don't go making a liar out of me." She patted him gently before she turned to her husband. "Joseph, would you ask Archie for the use of his wagon? We'll move Ezra to the saloon first then we'll move the tub." She turned back to Nathan. "Let's get him onto the quilt now."

Together, Nathan and Madeline raised and shifted the unconscious gambler so that he still lay on his stomach atop the clean cloth. While Madeline shook out the second quilt and gently covered his naked body, Nathan tried to situate his injured shoulder and stop the bleeding from the bullet hole in his back. A frightened look flashed across is face.

"What is it?" Maddie asked.

"This old wound is bleeding pretty heavy."

"And that worries you more than his other injuries?"

"Yes ma'am, it does. This bullet hole goes all the way through, front to back. I'm afraid the Nichols might've busted somethin' inside."

"If they did, can you help him?"

"Nathan'll fix him right as rain," Buck said. He had tried not to interrupt their conversation, but felt compelled to remind the healer of his skills.

"I'll try," he replied, " but he's weak. I just don't know how much more he can stand."

Madeline folded her hands in her lap and fell silent. It wasn't until she saw Vin and Josiah emerge from the shadows with one of the Nichols' boys in tow that she spoke again. "Mr. Jackson, look."

Nathan stood.

"Look what we found," Vin said. He pulled Luke Nichols along by the rope binding his hands.

"Where was he?"

"In that buggy of theirs. It came to a stop a ways down the alley. He was out cold on the floor."

Buck tugged at Chris and settled him against his shoulder. The gunfighter had given out and become dead weight. "What about the one doin' the driving? Where's he?"

"Dead. I spotted the coach after it got away from us at the livery and was able to get a shot off."

"Appears you hit the mark."

"Yeah, except the shot didn't kill him right off. Looks like he bled out before he died."

"That'd explain how he managed to run over his own mother. He was too messed up to control the horses."

Luke shook his head and wiped at the blood trickling down his brow, obviously dazed. "Ma?"

"Let's go, Nichols," Vin said, at the same time drawing the man away from the broken body lying in the dirt. He had no love for the large thug, in fact, quite the opposite, but it wasn't in him to rub Luke's nose in his mother's hideous demise.

"Where is she? Where's ma?"

"I said 'let's go.'"

Josiah took Luke by the arm. "I'll take him back to the jail, you stay here and help Nate."

"I ain't goin' to no jail. Now tell me where ma is?"

"Son, you keep your mouth shut, come with me and I'll tell you all about your ma."

"I told you I ain't goin'!"

"And I," Josiah said just before he spun the man around and punched him hard in the face, "said you are!" He jerked him hard by the arm and threw him over his shoulder. "If you gentlemen will excuse us, Mr. Nichols here has a date with the law." He turned a quick look toward Ezra. "I'll be right back."

Madeline heard Ezra groan. He didn't open his eyes or offer to move, but he did push an anxious moan past bloody lips. "I think he heard that Nichols boy," she said worriedly.

Nathan reached under the quilt to lay a hand on the Southerner's overheated skin. "Rest easy, Ezra, it's over. Ain't nobody hurtin' ya again." He watched Josiah disappear into the shadows. "Nobody."

TBC

A/N: A special THANK YOU to glitterfairy11 for suggesting the means of Mrs. Nichols' demise way back when! Thanks, girl!


	31. Chapter 31

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

Part 31

"Sarah," Chris mumbled as he pushed away the icy, wet cloth being held to his face. "Sarah, 'm c-cold."

"_It's alright,"_ she answered gently.

"Why's it so cold?"

"_Hush now."_

He shivered when the cloth came to rest on his chest. "No… stop," he complained and tried to move away.

"_Lie still now, we're trying to help you."_

"W-we?"

A large hand and a familiar voice stopped him from rising. _"Yeah, buddy, we."_

"Buck?"

"Right here. Why don't you settle down and listen to Mrs. Hobson."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Hobson."

"Where's Sarah?"

There was a long silence before he decided to see for himself where his wife had gone. He forced his eyes open and shifted uncomfortably when he noticed two shadows floating above him. "What's goin' on?" Wilmington's face came into focus.

"Take it slow, Chris, you're hurt and you're sick."

"Hurt?" He was beginning to feel foolish asking so many questions then he felt the growing ache in his belly and began to recall the past few days.

"You got shot, remember. The wound's got fever in it and it's makin' ya sick."

He pushed away the blanket covering him and fingered the bandage around his middle. "Hank," he said flatly.

Buck watched the sadness in his friend's eyes return as he remembered his father-in-law's death. He also saw the overwhelming disappointment on his face when Chris identified the woman at his side.

"Mrs. Hobson," he said, a little embarrassed.

She gave him a kind smile. "It's good to see you awake."

He tried to smile back but failed miserably. "How long?"

Buck sat back in the chair he'd pulled beside Chris' bed. "You've been out of it for almost two days now." He noticed the gunfighter's eyes wander. "You're in Ezra's room. The clinic was burned pretty bad in the fire the Nichols' set so Nathan's takin' care of ya here."

"W-where are they?"

"The Nichols? Most are dead. Two of the boys are back in Eagle Bend."

"And Ezra?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"He's alive."

He knew there was something wrong. "But?"

"He's fightin' a fever even worse than yours. Nathan's doin' all he can, and he keeps tryin' to tell us Ezra's strong, but I can tell he's more worried than he's lettin' on."

Chris heard the sound of water splashing and men talking. "What's happening?"

Buck leaned back so he could see around him. On the far side of the room Vin, Nathan and Josiah were huddled around a large bathing tub, all leaning over its edge and all holding on to a limp, semiconscious Ezra. "We've been tryin' to bring his fever down by putting him in cool water and feeding him lots of Nathan's teas."

"And it hasn't worked?"

"Not like it did with you?"

Chris shot him a look.

"You were pretty bad off yourself for a while, pard. Fortunately we only had to hold you in the tub once before we got your fever down enough to put ya back in bed. This is the third time for him."

The gunfighter stared at Ezra's black and blue face. "He ain't movin'."

"No, he fought us pretty hard when we first cleaned him up, and even managed to smack Vin in the face the second time, but now the fight's just gone outta him."

He rolled to his side and propped up on his elbow. "Can't let him… give up," he said around a harsh breath.

"We won't let him give up, you can count on that. He's had someone with him every minute keepin' an eye on him. Nathan's even beddin' down on the floor so he'll be close if he takes a turn for the worse."

Chris watched Josiah support most of Ezra's weight as Vin held his head up and Nathan washed him down. The only outward signs the gambler was still alive were the twitching in his slackened jaw and the occasional blink over his watery eyes. He wondered how much Ezra was aware of. Did he understand his body had literally been ripped apart? Did he realize he was being held, bare and broken, underneath water cool enough to drink? Did he understand his friends were struggling to save him and were willing to do whatever it took to keep him breathing? He stared at the bruised face as long as he could, willing Ezra to hang on, praying he would make it to see another day and then fell back to his pillow in exhaustion. His eyes tried their damnedest to roll back into his head before he squeezed them shut and groaned in frustration.

Buck put the wet cloth Madeline handed him to Larabee's reddened face. "There ain't nothin' you can do, Chris, so just get some rest. When Ezra does wake up he's gonna need to see you in one piece so he'll know he didn't do battle with those bastards for nothin'."

Wilmington's words had the desired effect – Chris was stunned into silence. He knew his friend was right, and after a few moments stopped trying to shove the cool rag away and allowed Buck to do what had to be done. He pulled at the blanket he'd pushed to his hips and dragged it beneath his chin. Despite the burning fever he still felt like he would freeze to death, but at least he was alive. And that thought stayed with him until he finally fell asleep.

M7M7M7M7M7M7

It was the next day before Chris' fever broke and two days after that before he could manage to sit up on his own. In that time, he'd seen Ezra's condition go from bad, to worse, to slightly better than dead, and never once had the gambler made a sound. It was similar to the way he was back at Nathan's clinic, but this time the man barely even breathed. It was unnerving before, it scared the crap out of him now.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and carefully stretched the muscles in his back. He was weak and slow to move, but at least the pain in his belly had been reduced to a dull throb instead of the raw hurt of the past few days. He rubbed a hand over his face and realized the scruffy stubble of beard was gone. He tried not to think on who had cleaned him up; it was embarrassing to have such intimate things done for you while you were unaware. When he looked down the length of his body he realized he had more than personal hygiene to feel uneasy about – his clothes were gone. Well damn. He shook his head anxiously and scanned the room for his pants. He spotted them across the back of a chair, clean and neatly folded. It was dark out and the room was dimly lit, so he decided now was probably the best time to retrieve them without being seen.

He slid slowly forward until his feet touched the floor. With a deep breath and a clenched jaw, he forced himself to stand and walk across the room. Taking the pants from the back of the chair without falling over was one thing; putting them on was something else altogether. He dropped into the chair with a huff and leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Just what do you think you're doin'?"

He looked up to see Nathan standing over him, arms crossed, face creased with worry. "I need… my pants," he gasped.

"Why? You goin' somewhere?"

He thought about it and decided he really hadn't planned on leaving. "Back's hurtin'," he answered simply.

"I don't doubt it after your tussle with Buck and Vin yesterday."

"What 'tussle'?"

Nathan raised an eyebrow before his face softened and he answered, "You really don't remember, do you?"

"What?"

The healer uncrossed his arms and moved closer to the chair. "You tried to leave yesterday. Said you were goin' after the Nichols and nobody was gettin' in your way. You almost made it past Vin, but Buck came in about that time and the two of 'em wrestled you back into bed."

Chris groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Sorry."

"It's alright. It was probably the medicine I was givin' ya makin' ya crazy. But you really do need to stay down a while longer."

"My back hurt's from layin' around so much," he said into his hands. "I need to get up and move around."

Nathan took pity on him. "Tell you what. You can have your pants back, and I'll even let you sit in a chair for a while, but don't be tryin' to go anywhere on our own. And when I do tell ya to get back in bed, don't argue, understand?"

Chris eyed him suspiciously; the healer was being too agreeable.

"Understand?"

He muttered a pitiful 'yes' and Nathan helped him with his pants.

Leaving Chris to his moment in the chair, Jackson went to the bed in the middle of the room and checked on Ezra. The gunfighter raised himself onto shaky legs and followed. "Chris." The way Nathan said his name definitely held a warning.

"I hear ya," he answered. "How's he doing?"

A dark hand felt Ezra's face. "It's hard to tell. His fever's down some, but he hasn't come to since we got him back."

"I thought I heard someone say he punched Vin."

Nathan gave a little grin. "He did, but he didn't know what he was doin'."

"I suppose he'll come round when he's good and ready. You know Ezra, he does everything in his own time."

Jackson didn't seem convinced. "Maybe," he said, his shoulders sagging.

"When's the last time you slept?"

"I got about an hour last night."

"Well how about you rest a while and let me watch him."

"No, I'm fine. Josiah'll be back soon. I'll rest then."

"You might as well get some sleep now. I ain't gettin' back in that bed 'til the ache is gone in my back and Ezra ain't goin' any place with me playin' watchdog. Lay down. If he needs you, I'll wake you."

Nathan thought about it.

"Or I can wait 'til you fall on your face and then I can sneak outta here good and proper." Chris settled back in his chair. "You just said Josiah'll be here soon."

"Alright, but trust me, if you leave that chair on your own I'll be takin' back those pants of yours and it'll be another week before ya see 'em again."

Chris swallowed hard when he realized Nathan wasn't kidding around, and Nathan knew by the look on Chris' face the gunfighter wouldn't make a move without him. The conversation ended with Jackson returning to his pallet on the floor and Chris grumbling about bossy, know-it-all healers.

TBC

A/N: Thanks to everyone who offered feedback!


	32. Chapter 32

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 32**

Chris hadn't been sitting in the chair by Ezra's bed long when the gambler began to groan in his sleep. It was a low, guttural groan broken by such harsh gasps for breath it sounded as if he was physically taking hits to the stomach. He was on his side, propped forward against a stack of pillows to keep his shoulder safe and to lessen the pressure of the whip marks on his back, and Chris wondered if the position was making it difficult for him to breath. "Ezra," he called softly, leaving his chair to sit on the bed. He reached a hand to touch him, and even through the blanket covering his torso, felt a constant tremor run the length of his body. Uncertain whether he should try to move him or just leave him alone, he called his name again. The gambler jerked and Chris quickly snatched his hand away.

"S-stop," Ezra slurred.

Chris looked closer at his face. "It's alright, I won't touch you again."

Another hard shudder racked the Southerner's body as a whimper escaped his lips.

"Ezra, I…"

"It ain't you, Chris," Nathan said, appearing from the darkness. "He's dreamin'."

"He's awake, his eyes are open."

"He's been doin' this off and on since that fit he had the other night."

"What fit?"

"His fever went so high he seized a couple of times. Since then he has spells where his muscles start actin' up on their own."

Chris looked again at the blind green eyes staring at the pillow. "He's asleep?"

"I don't think he's really asleep, it's more like his brain can't quite get awake."

The gunfighter's eyebrow went up.

Nathan shook his head, he knew what he was saying didn't make a lot of sense. "He's somewhere in between being asleep and awake. It usually don't last long, but the shiverin' gets pretty bad so we need to make sure he don't hurt himself. We also need to make sure his fever stays down." He pulled a cloth from the water basin on the bedside table and wrung it out. Folding it long ways, he raised Ezra's head enough to slide it around the back of his neck. He then reached for a cup of herbal tea and offered it to his patient. Surprisingly, Ezra took a long drink before he settled down; his lips quivered, his eyes closed and his body slowly let go the tension that fed his twitching muscles.

"How long's he gonna be like this?" Chris asked.

"I wish I knew." Nathan pulled the cover down and examined the freshest slash marks on Ezra's back and hips. "He's got a ways to go before I can say he's outta danger."

Chris stared at the damage revealed by the blanket's removal. It was the first time he had actually had a chance to see the gambler's injuries for himself and the sight cut through him like a knife.

"You alright?" Nathan asked when he saw the gunfighter pale.

Chris turned away.

"I knew it was a mistake lettin' you up. You should be in bed."

"I'm fine."

The healer waited and watched.

"In fact, I think I'm well enough to get back to my own bed in my own room."

"You'll stay here 'til I tell ya you can leave."

"You can't keep me here."

"The hell I can't. You ain't strong enough to get past me yet."

"Don't push me, Nathan," Chris said, coming around with fire in his eyes.

"Look, I know you hate this, but you gotta know I'm just tryin' to help ya."

The blond steadied himself against the bed and stood. "I need to get outta here."

"You ain't leavin' 'til I turn ya loose, so get that through your head."

Chris' back stiffened and his eyes drifted to Ezra. "I can't stay here," he said just before he swayed forward.

Jackson made a grab for him but he stumbled out of reach.

"Back off," he snarled after he bumped the tub behind his legs and lost his balance. He wrenched his body sideways to avoid falling in and awakened the hurt in his wound.

"Dang it, are ya tryin' to kill yourself?" Nathan circled the bed and gathered him up in his arms. "Why do ya have to be so damned stubborn?"

The gunfighter tried to pull free. "I told you to back off. Don't you get it? I can't stay here. I can't be here when…"

Nathan didn't let go. "When what?"

Chris was dangerously close to caving in. He drew a long breath and let his head fall back against the healer's shoulder. "I can't be here when he wakes up."

"Why would you think…"

"I'm the reason he's in this mess. If we want him to survive, I can't be here remindin' him how he got this way."

"Chris…"

"Just let me go. I can go back to my place, do my healin' there."

"You will do no such thing!" The two men looked up to see Madeline Hobson, flanked by Josiah and Vin, standing in the doorway. "Mr. Jackson has worked himself to near exhaustion trying to save you and Mr. Standish and you are not undoing his fine work by going off before you're well enough."

Nathan adjusted his hold on Chris. "Thank you, ma'am," he said with relief.

"Lady, this is none of your business," the gunfighter growled.

Vin stepped into the room and sat down the basket of food he had carried for Madeline. "Mind your manners, pard. I reckon she's earned a right to speak her mind since she's been helpin' tend you and Ezra these past few days."

"Why?" he asked sarcastically. "Guilty conscience?"

"Chris!" Nathan yanked the gunfighter's arm tighter.

"It's alright, Mr. Jackson. I know he's not himself and I'm sure he understands how things were when my husband was forced into service for the Nichols family."

The anger on Chris' face quickly turned to shame and the fight in him dwindled into fatigue. His knees sagged and Nathan felt his awkward grip fail him. Josiah hurried forward, scooped the gunfighter off the floor and returned him to his bed.

Madeline was at his side in an instant. "Do you see now why Mr. Jackson didn't want you to leave?"

"You don't understand," he mumbled.

"I think I do. You did quite a lot of talking when the fever had you."

He looked up in surprise.

"It's alright. Your friends set me straight about what you were saying, and I promised never to repeat what I heard." She pointed the three men standing to the food baskets in the corner. "Now, you boys need to eat. I'll prepare something for Mr. Larabee and then perhaps he can get some sleep."

Chris touched her arm as she began to rise. "I meant what I said. I don't want to be here when Ezra wakes up."

She patted his hand. "You don't seem to understand, you have no choice. The Nichols convinced him you died because he failed to protect you. That knowledge might cost him his life unless you make him understand you're all right. He has to see you and hear you," she sandwiched his hand between her own, "and feel that you're alive."

"He should never have taken on the Nichols for me in the first place."

"I know Mr. Standish is a little different from the rest of you, but do you think so little of the kind of man he is to assume he wouldn't 'take on' the devil himself if it meant protecting you?"

Chris turned sharply at the accusation. "No."

"Then appreciate his sacrifice for what it was. Let him know he did his job as a lawman and as a friend."

He didn't say a word when she put his hand down and left him to prepare a plate.

Vin came to stand beside him. "Smart lady. She's been through a lot herself lately."

"I'll apologize to her later."

"Good. And listen to her. She was with Ezra right there at the end before we got 'im back. I reckon she probably saw some things we didn't."

Chris rolled to his side to get a better look at the gambler on the other bed. He stared long and hard at the bruises and bandages and came to the conclusion he'd never really _seen _the man beneath. Approval pulled at the edges of his mouth and he ultimately had to admit, "Yeah, I reckon she did."

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

_Ezra heard them talking close by, a woman and several men, and his heart threatened to stop. He didn't understand where he was or how he had gotten there, but the sound of those voices terrified him so badly he could barely breathe. "Get away," he wheezed as the overwhelming urge to escape hammered in his chest. Sadly, his first attempt at moving gained him nothing except a massive hurt from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It was a pain so intense it sent his mind reeling; like nothing he'd ever experienced, cold and deep, and in complete contrast to the heat burning just beneath his skin. _

_And _they_ were here, those who had done this to him, standing just feet away, talking and laughing and obviously planning his demise. He moaned in frustration and tried again to force his body to move. Why was this happening? What had he done to deserve a death that destroyed him a piece at a time? He was dizzy from his efforts but finally coerced muscles too tired to respond to push him onto his elbow. Daggers pierced his upper body and tears of pain were sent down his cheeks. "Oh God, I can't…" he cried and reached out to grab anything he could find to stop himself collapsing. In the midst of his panic, someone took hold of his fingers and slid a hand round his neck. He cringed at the touch and tried to wriggle away, but whoever had him wasn't letting go. _

_Giving freedom one last shot, he jerked hard, snatched his hand to his chest and fell awkwardly onto his back. The agony that resulted literally swallowed him whole and he screamed until his lungs began to smother and choke._

_He couldn't fight them any more. _

_No man could. _

_So he gathered his hurt and his sorrow close to his heart and slowly stepped away…_

_TBC_

A/N: A big hug to Maggie for helping me work my way through this chapter... Some days are just harder than others, and some chapters are just plain stubborn! As always, thank you to those who offered feedback. Without ya'll I might be tempted to just shove the thing in a drawer and forget it.


	33. Chapter 33

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

Part 33

In all the years Nathan had spent tending the sick, he had never seen anyone fight so hard to survive. Every time it looked as if Ezra would succumb to the terrible devastation of his wounds, the stubborn Southerner would rally and claw his way back to life. It was a remarkable thing to see, but as was evident by the stoop in Chris' shoulders, it was nerve-wracking as well. It had been several days since Ezra's fever had broken yet he still hadn't wakened. Considering how badly injured he had been it wasn't really surprising, but it was difficult to watch what the gambler's lengthy recovery was doing to his friends – Chris in particular. The gunfighter, although healing nicely since his own fever had run its course, was a bundle of nerves. Nathan could tell by the look on his face he was ready to bolt, but something inside made him stay. It was as if he thought he could 'will' Ezra back to health. Perhaps he had because by all rights the gambler should have died.

A light knock at the door caught Jackson's attention and Buck entered carrying a tray of food. "Hey, sorry I'm late with your supper but I went over to check how things were comin' along at the clinic."

"How's it look?"

"Better than a week ago."

"No kidding," Nathan mumbled as he sorted his meager medicines atop Ezra's chest of drawers.

Buck gave a supportive smile. "The good news is the damage was mostly to the front of the building. The back room is nearly intact."

"The bad news," the healer added, "is that most of the stuff I use for doctorin' was in the front room."

"Yeah, but the better news is that everyone in town is gathering some of their own supplies and sendin' them to the General Store; Mr. Hobson's holding it all for you 'til you need it."

Nathan's jaw dropped slightly.

"Real nice, don't ya think?"

The first smile the ladies man had seen in ages crossed Jackson's face. "Thanks, Buck."

"Hey, don't thank me. I didn't do anything."

"I'm thinkin' ya probably did."

"Nah, not me." Buck changed the subject. "So how's Ezra?"

The smile faded. "'Bout the same."

"Dang, he's been out of it a long time now."

"He's more restless than before so I'm hopin' that means he'll be wakin' up soon."

"And Chris?"

Nathan shook his head. "Worryin'."

"Sounds like Chris."

"I reckon. Why don't ya talk to him?"

"Right, give me the hard jobs, why don't you." Buck gave a grim smile of his own and went to drag a second chair by the bed. He bumped Chris' knee with the back of his hand. "How're ya doin'?"

The gunfighter seemingly ignored the question. "He should've come round by now," he said flatly.

"He's had a rough ride there, pard, can't damn him if he wants to sleep in." When Chris didn't reply, he decided to change the subject. "We got word back from Eagle Bend. The two Nichols boys we sent back there are gonna stand trial for murder sooner than we thought. It seems the town's real anxious to get started so Judge Travis'll be brought in to hear the case by the end of next week."

Larabee just stared at the floor.

"Damn it, Chris, say somethin'."

He didn't. Not until Ezra's leg moved and a bandaged foot slid out from under the blanket. Then he was on his feet and bent over the Southerner trying to talk him awake.

It took several minutes of encouragement, but the gambler finally opened his eyes. He lifted his head from the pillow only to have it fall back. Vaguely aware someone was speaking to him, he grimaced, grunted and raised himself again, this time succeeding in glancing around the room. He caught sight of Chris and froze.

The gunfighter saw a look of fear spark in his eyes and reached out to offer comfort, but when his fingers touched his arm, Ezra jerked away. Chris fell back in his chair, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut. He knew he should have trusted his instincts and made himself scarce before the gambler woke up, but he had wanted more than anything to help. Now it appeared that wasn't going to be something Ezra wanted or needed. "This was a bad idea. You just rest and I'll leave ya be," he said quietly and turned to rise. Before he could make it to his feet, a hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist.

"N-no," came the painful reply from the bed.

Chris looked back to see panic in the Southerner's damp green eyes.

"No," Ezra wheezed again.

Chris settled back in the chair and scooted closer. The hand on his wrist was weak and trembling but it did not let go. "Easy now," he said evenly. "I'll stay." His heart gladdened at what the contact implied, but he was deeply worried by the desperate look on his friend's face. It was clear he wanted to say something, but obviously couldn't make his lungs and mouth work in unison. "Take your time, I ain't leavin'."

"Tell… m-me."

"What d'ya wanna know?"

"What… happened?"

Chris hadn't expected the question. He looked at Buck and Nathan for help. Buck frowned and Nathan shook his head. "We can talk about it later, Ezra."

"Now," he insisted. "Need… to know." He paused and squeezed his eyes shut when another pain traveled his body. It took some time, but he finally managed to finish his question. "Did we stop them?"

The gunfighter flinched both at the question and the grip around his wrist. "Yeah, we stopped them."

"Buck's… alright?"

"Buck? He's fine."

The ladies man moved closer for the gambler to see. "I'm right here, pard."

His eyelids fluttered open to see the smiling mustached face. "Glad… you made it out… didn't know if it'd work."

Buck raised an eyebrow. "If what would work?"

Ezra bit down hard as the misery that was his body flared with pain.

Chris felt the fingers clutching him tighten. "We'll talk later. Just rest now. Get some sleep."

"Can't sleep… hurts… too much."

"Damn," Chris mumbled under his breath.

"H-hurts."

Nathan hurried to his small stash of medicines.

"Hang on, Ezra. We've got somethin' that'll stop ya hurtin'."

"What's… goin' on?" he begged and shook harder.

"Just hold on to me."

Nathan returned with a small brown bottle. "Give him a swig o' this." He pulled the cork top off. "Don't worry none about measurin', just get some down him."

Buck pulled the gambler's head back so Chris could put the container to his mouth. "Drink, Ezra."

He tried to comply but most of the bitter liquid leaked past his lips and dribbled onto the bed.

"Try again. Take your time." This time when the medicine left the bottle, Chris put a hand to the man's chin and closed his mouth for him. He sputtered and gagged but managed to swallow what he had been given.

The gunfighter waited for the drug to take effect as Ezra shook hard enough to make his teeth rattle, then he slowly turned the grip on his arm around until he could hold the weakening hand in his own. It was cold and unsteady but its movement was the first positive sign of life he had seen from the man in over a week. After several husky groans, Ezra began to relax. "You think you might wanna sit up some?"

He nodded and the three men set about helping him. Once he was situated among the thick padding of pillows against the headboard, Chris offered him water. He took one sip, then another, and before he knew it the cup was empty.

"Better?"

He slid deeper into the pillows as the soothing comfort of Nathan's drug began to reach for his arms and legs. His breathing calmed and the involuntary jerking of his muscles began to lessen. The pain was more manageable, but now the medicine was affecting his ability to speak. "Wh-where?" he slurred as he tried to make out his surroundings.

"We're in your room at the saloon." Chris answered.

That couldn't be right. Surely he would know his own room. He shook is head and made a face.

"I ain't messin' with you. We're in your room. Nathan and the others brought you here after the clinic burned."

He paused a moment to let his brain interpret what he had heard. "Burned? I wouldn't… wouldn't hurt Nathan…"

"No, you didn't burn the clinic, the Nichols did."

The gambler's head bobbed, but he was able to pull it back against a pillow. "Who?"

"The Nichols boys."

"They were… after Buck?" he asked, again in a panic.

"Ezra, nobody's after Buck; just settle down."

"N-no… they're goin' trap him." His words were becoming so jumbled together Chris could barely understand. "C-can cut'em off… 'round the gully."

"The gully," Wilmington repeated. "Wait a minute. He's talkin' about that run in we had on patrol out at Walter Hensley's place."

"You mean when those two boys tried to strong-arm ol' Walt into sellin'?" Nathan asked.

"But that was two weeks ago," Chris pointed out.

Jackson sat on the bed and steadied his patient's head. "Ezra, look at me." Lazy, bloodshot eyes blinked the healer's face into focus. "I want ya to think real hard for me."

They all watched the effort of concentration draw itself on the bruised face. It might have actually been humorous if it hadn't been so worryingly pathetic.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

His anguish was palpable. Some part of him knew the question was important but there was such a sense of dread sucking at his mind he found it difficult to answer. "I was ridin'… the gully. Wha' happnd… t' me?" He pulled away from Nathan and turned his face to the pillow. "Wha'd I do? Oh God, what'd I do?"

The Southerner's thickened accent added to the ambiguity of his slur, but Chris clearly understood what he said. "You listen to me, you didn't do anything. You got that?" The hand in his began to let go. "Ezra?"

Nathan reached a hand to check his eyes before he felt for a pulse. "It's alright, Chris, he's just asleep."

The gunfighter discreetly wiped his face and muttered an inaudible curse as he unconsciously fingered the bandage still wrapped around Ezra's wrist. "I wish I could bring every one of those dead son-of-a-bitches back to life so I could kill 'em all again with my bare hands."

"I'm with you there, pard," Buck said once he had cleared the emotion from his throat.

Jackson situated the blanket over the inert body of his friend and sighed. "I suppose it's a blessin' though he don't seem to remember what happened."

"But how long will that last?"

"Got no way of knowin', Buck. I seen this sort of thing before when a memory's too painful to hang on to. Some or all of it could come back to him tomorrow, or his mind might just shut it out for good."

Chris, still running his fingers over the gambler's thick bandage, announced clearly, "It's best he doesn't remember."

"Probably, but it ain't somethin' you can decide," Nathan said.

"Maybe not, but it's something I don't have to help along either. I don't want anyone discussing what happened in front of him."

"Chris, people around town…"

"Are gonna keep their mouths shut."

Nathan knew better than to argue.

"Look, I'm not stupid, I know we can't hide everything from him but we don't have to remind him of the details. He's gonna have questions when he sees beneath the bandages so we can't pretend nothin' happened… just don't fill in the blanks for him unless he asks."

"You're right," the healer replied. "We need to get him on his feet first, then we'll handle the rest as it comes." He watched Chris slump a little further. "Buck, why don't you two get outta here for a while?"

"No," the blond answered.

"Chris, he's gonna be asleep for a long time with what we gave him. You get some fresh air and somethin' to eat and you can be back here before he wakes up."

"Come on, buddy, he makes sense," Buck said. "You wanna be able to help Ezra down the line."

Chris didn't want to leave, but he knew there would be no peace until he did. He buttoned his shirt and pulled on his jacket. He paused when Buck opened the door and looked back at the bed in the middle of the room. "Nathan… thanks," he added before leaving, knowing the gambler was in good hands.

TBC

A/N: We're nearly there!


	34. Chapter 34

**ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS**

**Part 34**

Ezra became painfully aware how foolish he had been to attempt escape when his balance, strength and sense of direction left him groping the crutch beneath his right arm. He had known before he left he wasn't fit to walk on his own, but he desperately needed to leave the confines of his room and he would be damned if he was going to allow Chris or Buck or any of the others to carry him in public. It was bad enough he had been forced to permit their assistance in private during the weeks of his recovery, when he was too weak from his injuries and too dizzy from Nathan's concoctions to resist, but he simply couldn't stand the humiliation any longer. He had to get out and feigning sleep when Jackson left to attend an injured patron at the saloon downstairs availed him the perfect opportunity. He had rolled himself off the bed, snatched the crutch leaning against the chair and staggered clumsily to his feet. Once he had checked the hallway for anyone who might try to stop him, he wobbled painfully down the back stairs, around the building and onto the boardwalk. He had no idea where he was going; it was just enough that he was out of his room… at least in the beginning.

He had only managed to plod his way twenty feet from the saloon when it struck him how stupid he had been for trying such a stunt. It wasn't like he hadn't been allowed to go outside before now but it was the first time he had tried to make the journey on his own. He looked around as best he could and noticed there was no place to sit down, no place to catch his breath before he passed out, so now he was left to grip, or rather cling to his crutch. His feet, heavily wrapped in thick bandages, were extremely uncomfortable and his one good arm was trembling so badly he was in danger of shaking himself right off his prop. He dropped his forehead to the back of his hand and prayed for strength. The prayer lasted all of ten seconds before he twisted sideways and fell.

A collective gasp could be heard from the small gathering of women at the next doorway just as he hit the ground. Not for the first time in the past few weeks, he felt like crying, but when he heard the familiar tone of Chris Larabee's voice he stifled the urge and stared blindly at the floor. "Ezra, what the hell are you doing?"

"Get me out of here," he replied, his voice strained to its limits.

The gunfighter pushed the wooden crutch aside and reached an arm around his fallen friend. "Come on, I've got ya."

Ezra's humiliation took on a whole new meaning as he was manhandled off the sidewalk and onto a chair discovered by one of the ladies who had witnessed his collapse. Feeling the all too familiar sensation of vertigo, he teetered off balance a second time. Chris made a grab for him but when he took the flailing hand in his own it was yanked away with a yelp. The lawman didn't react to the retreat. He simply leaned against the sidewalk rail and motioned for the onlookers to leave.

Ezra spoke near a whisper once he had gathered himself. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He stole a glance at Chris' profile as the blond watched the street. "Aren't you going to offer some sort of reprimand for my leaving unaccompanied?"

"Nope."

"You're not?"

"I figure you've probably already done that." The blond finally turned around. "And I got a good idea how ya feel."

An image of Chris lying on a cot passed quickly through Ezra's mind as a dull ache began to form behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I thought I saw Nathan fussing over you… I think it was at the clinic."

"You remember that?"

"Not really remember. It's more like I just know. I keep seeing things in my head I don't really understand. But you were hurt, weren't you."

"Shot."

"By the Nichols?"

Chris' stomach tightened when he remembered Hank aiming at him. "Because of the Nichols."

Ezra cocked his head to the side at the gunfighter's strange tone. "I get the feeling there's a lot more to what happened than I've been told. What are you hiding from me?"

"There's nothing else needs tellin' right now. The Nichols chased someone I know to Four Corners trying to kill him, I hid him out at my cabin and when they asked where I had gone you sent them in the wrong direction. I was able to get him on his way to Mexico but I didn't make it back to town in time to stop them from grabbin' you."

"So my deception was cause enough for them to do this…" the Southern voice trailed off as he looked down at himself.

"I'm sorry, Ezra."

"It was likely my own fault."

"How d'ya figure?" Chris asked, shocked by the statement.

"For one thing, I should have been able to come up with a more creative ploy than sending them in the wrong direction. And secondly, if I had kept my guard up they never would have had the opportunity to 'grab' me."

"Don't be takin' this on yourself. You did a good thing."

Ezra ran a hand across his face. "At least you saved your friend, and the Nichols have been stopped."

The gunfighter felt a pang of sorrow when he thought of is father-in-law, but there was no way he was going to reveal to Ezra that despite all their efforts they hadn't been able to save Hank. He watched the gambler pale as he rubbed a hand to his temple. "Headache still bad?"

"I'm fine."

"Sound familiar, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris turned to see Joseph Hobson at his back.

"Maddie tells me you kept insisting the same thing when she was helping take care of you."

Ezra looked up to see the lawman's face turn red.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Hobson?" Chris quickly asked.

When the shopkeeper realized he had spoken a little too plainly, he clamped his mouth shut and stared at his feet. After the longest minute of his life, he finally straightened his shoulders and raised his head. He stood with his hands behind his back and stared at Ezra so long Chris had to break the silence. "It's alright, Mr. Hobson. Is there something you needed?"

"I… I came over for two reasons actually. I wanted to deliver a package that came for you, Mr. Larabee, and I sort of wanted to speak to Mr. Standish." He handed Chris a small flat box wrapped in paper and watched the gunfighter tuck it inside his jacket.

"Me?" Ezra asked.

"I don't know how to begin… after all you've been through." He fidgeted nervously.

"You can say anything you like, Mr. Hobson, since it appears I am in your debt."

"Mine? Oh no. It's the other way round."

Standish's eyes grew wider.

"You see, I want to talk to you about the day the Nichols… well, the day the Nichols abducted you."

Chris didn't like where this conversation was going. "I'm sorry, Mister Hobson, but Ezra has no memory of the Nichols. He only knows what little we've been able to explain to him. You understand."

A look of astonishment crossed the older man's face but he remained polite and unobtrusive. Madeline had told him about the man's memory loss, but Ezra had improved so much physically over the past weeks he had hoped his mind might have healed as well. Not that he wanted him to remember 'everything' he had been through, but there were some moments which were too important to forget. "Well yes, of course, it's just…"

"Yes?" Ezra prodded.

"Forgive me, I don't wish to remind you of the events of that horrible day, it's just I feel I need to apologize for what I did. I'm very ashamed of my behavior and…"

"Mr. Hobson, from what I understand it is I who should be thanking you. You put yourself at risk by smuggling one of my guns to Chris and the others."

The store clerk stammered. "I… I didn't really do anything."

Chris raised himself off the boardwalk railing and moved to stand beside Joseph. "You told us in the only way you could where the Nichols were hiding."

"I didn't do enough to make up for helping those killers in the first place. I hate what I did, and I'll have to live with the shame, but…" he broke off and his shoulders slumped.

"But you couldn't allow them to harm your wife," Ezra finished. "You did what you had to."

"As you did?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"What you did at the General Store, before the Nichols came after you."

Ezra blinked, a puzzled look on his face.

"Mr. Standish, you saved my life. A couple of those boys came into my place, asking where Mr. Larabee had taken that other man. They wanted to know how to find him. I hate to admit it, but as much as I didn't want to tell them, I know in my heart I would have if you hadn't come along. I would have been killed if you hadn't looked in the window and come in. You could have walked on by, as I noticed several other folks did, but you didn't. You pushed your way in, put yourself between them and me and persuaded them to leave; I won't be forgetting that."

Ezra glanced at Chris for an instant before responding. "I assure you, if I did do something resembling an act of heroism I was just doing what my job requires of me."

Hobson shook his head. "Trust me, you did. And even if that's true, you're still a hell of a man to do your job. As I said, more than one person passed by my window, saw what was happening and hurried on out of harm's way. I saw you the second you realized what was going on; you didn't hesitate to help me."

The gambler grew uneasy with the attention, and the crooked grin on Chris' face did little to alleviate his discomfort. He leaned forward in his chair and tried to scoot enough to reach the crutch the gunfighter had propped against the wall. "Well now, my shining moment as a hero and I have no memory of the deed. I'm disappointed," he said flippantly as he struggled to regain his feet. The chair slid away suddenly causing him to wobble uncontrollably onto the more painful of his two feet. He tried to use his arms for balance but since one was bound to his side, he overcompensated and nearly toppled to the sidewalk. In an instant, hands were on him, lifting up and into the chair he'd just vacated.

"You okay?" Chris asked, kneeling in front of him.

Standish squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control the pain running rampant through his body. He was sick of this feeling, fed up with his inability to control his own movements and humiliated by his glaring displays of weakness. But there was little he could do except bow his head and suck up the embarrassment he felt.

"Ezra?"

Hobson, who upon much observation of the gambler when he had been allowed outside, had a sneaking suspicion how Ezra was feeling. It didn't take a doctor to understand the man's frustration. In fact it was that very observation two days earlier which had brought him to this moment with an idea of how he might help.

" 'm okay," Ezra slurred to Chris.

"Should I get Nathan?" the gunfighter asked, realizing it was taking his friend a long to time to regain his composure.

His eyes flew open. "No!"

"Ezra…"

"No, please, I just need a moment."

"You've pushed too hard."

"I simply stood… too quickly. It'll pass."

Chris looked doubtful, but truly did understand. Since the gambler had been rescued a second time from the Nichols family, he'd been fed a steady diet of pain medications and mild sedatives. One was for the constant hurt and ache; the other was for the reoccurring nightmares continuously plaguing his sleep. He squeezed Ezra's arm and nodded.

It took another a few minutes for the shaking to stop, but Ezra's body finally gave out and dropped deeper into the chair. "I apologize."

"For what?"

"For inconveniencing you gentlemen. I was a fool to leave on my own. I'm sure you both have better things to do than watch over the likes of me." He turned his face away when he realized he was drawing too much attention to himself.

"Hey, I've been where you are; I know how it feels to be pinned down. Besides, I've been pretty bored lately and I needed somethin' to do."

"So I'm you're idea of something to do?"

"Suppose so."

Ezra noticed Hobson still standing over him. "I appreciate your kind words to me earlier, sir, but please do not feel obliged. Even though I have no memory of the event you spoke of, I am very grateful to know I was able to help."

"Your helping me is not something I'm soon to forget. But it's cost you so much – you're still not on your feet…" he said, his hands once again behind his back.

The Southerner glanced at the two large bundles of bandages that had replaced his boots. Albeit one foot was healing nicely, the other had a long way to go to be useful. "Sadly, you are correct."

"Well, that's another reason I wanted to speak with you. You see, I've been noticing the trouble you've been having using that crutch."

One of Ezra's eyebrows went up. Hobson had been noticing him? Oh Lord, he had made a spectacle of himself.

The shopkeeper saw the look on the gambler's face and quickly began again. "Oh, please, Mr. Standish, I didn't mean to imply anything, it's just I've become aware how hard it is for you to get around what with both feet bandaged and your arm tied down. Using a crutch must be near impossible."

Ezra cleared his throat and looked again to Chris for help. "I appreciate your concern. It has been difficult to maneuver using a crutch, but at least it allows me to move around."

"I think I may have a solution." Joseph straightened and slowly revealed why he'd kept his hands out of sight. He was hiding a walking stick, a very stylish and beautifully crafted walking stick.

Ezra gawked at the slender object.

"I was wondering if you'd like to try using this cane. I thought it would be easier to use than the crutch."

The gambler was dumbfounded. The cane was made of the loveliest wood he'd ever seen, mahogany if he wasn't mistaken, and its head was a broad knob of silver, heavily ornamented on the sides and smooth across the top. It was nothing less than exquisite.

"Mr. Standish?"

Ezra stared in silence.

"Oh no, I've offended you."

"Hold on, Mr. Hobson, just give him a second," Chris said, seeing the look in his friend's eyes. "Ezra has an overly keen appreciation of fine craftsmanship."

"I don't understand."

"Ezra, say thank you to the nice man," the gunslinger said.

"W-what? Oh, sorry, please forgive my manners. It's just I've never seen such a beautiful cane."

"You like it then? You're not upset by my offering it to you?"

"Upset?"

"For noticing your, uh, temporary infirmity."

_Oh God_ Chris thought,_ now Hobson was sounding like Ezra._

"Not at all, but I'm afraid I wouldn't want to be responsible for it. I appreciate your generous loan but it's too much," Ezra replied, reluctantly pushing the stick away.

"It isn't too much, not by a long stretch. And it's not a loan, it's a gift, and I truly wish you would accept it." The general store clerk took up Chris' previous position kneeling in front of Ezra. "You helped me, Mr. Standish, when I desperately needed it. Now I would like to help you." Standish eyed the beautiful cane as it was laid across his knees. "I only hope you don't think I'm trying to buy your forgiveness. It will take a lot more than a pretty stick to make up for what I did."

"I told you before; there is nothing to forgive." Ezra touched the wood, smoothing his fingers over its fine grain. It was obvious he liked the stick, but he was more impressed with what Hobson was really trying to give him – a sense of independence. And it didn't hurt that the means of independence was as suited to Ezra's style as his fine brocade vest or his elegantly designed jacket.

Hobson, still kneeling, looked into the battered but now brighter face and stated firmly. "You will accept it, won't you."

Standish took the walking stick, slipped his hand over the handle and stood it on the floor between his knees. "I..."

Chris could hardly believe his ears; Ezra Standish was at a loss for words.

Joseph smiled and added, "It could be just the thing to aid in your next escape attempt."

The gambler pulled back in surprise.

"I saw you slip out of the saloon."

Ezra laughed and tilted the cane until it tapped the clerk on the chest. "Excellent point, Mr. Hobson. I appreciate your generosity."

"You're welcome. I hope it helps you the way I think it should." An understanding passed between the two, and Hobson backed away.

Chris saw a change in Ezra that amazed him. He looked more at ease than before, less… damaged. That such a simple act as someone giving him a gift could brighten his spirits so, was totally unexpected, especially when the gift came from someone he hardly knew. Then again, maybe being appreciated by the people he served in this town was exactly what Ezra needed. There were times when even he felt taken for granted so it was good to see someone come forward and say thank you.

Despite the raising of his spirits however, Chris could see how tired Ezra had become. It wasn't likely he'd be able to make it back to his room under his own steam now, even with the aid of the new walking stick, but he would get him there if he had to pick him up and carry him kicking and screaming. "You ready to head back, Ezra?"

The Southerner held his new possession proudly and smiled. "Yes, I think I am." And with the leverage the cane provided he was able to raise himself smoothly off the chair.

"Good job, now let's get your most distinguished self back to bed before an angry healer comes lookin' to put you there himself." He turned the gambler, but not before Ezra shuffled the cane to pin it beneath his sling and offer his free hand to Joseph.

The shopkeeper beamed.

"We are even now, sir. We have saved each other."

Hobson shook his hand and returned to his store a happy man. Chris picked up the forgotten crutch and ushered Ezra towards the saloon. Just before they reached the end of the boardwalk he saw a frown replace the Southerner's smile. He also noticed a fine sheen of perspiration glisten on his face and a less than subtle tremor building in his arms and legs. "Ezra, all you have to do is say the word."

"No," he responded sharply. "Please. Don't even think it. I can make it on my own."

Larabee placed a hand discreetly beneath his elbow despite his protests, and wasn't surprised in the least when Ezra leaned into him. "It's alright, just take a breather."

"Chris," Vin called from the street, "wait up."

"Oh no," Standish groaned.

"Don't worry, he can help get you upstairs."

"But I don't want…"

"Hey, Ezra, how're ya doin'?" Tanner asked before he leaned down to take a good look at the gambler's grimacing face. "You don't look so good there, pard."

He groaned again. "Chris."

The gunfighter grinned and explained to Vin, "He's trying to make it back without anyone noticin'."

"We can do that," Tanner replied. He put a hand beneath the tail of Ezra's coat and took a firm hold on the waistband of his pants. He then leaned inconspicuously against him to give him support. "Chris, you just keep that hand on his arm there and we'll have him outta sight in no time."

Vin was true to his word. Ezra was moved quickly to his room without wrecking his self-esteem or his sense of decorum. Chris placed the discarded crutch behind the door and helped move the exhausted man to his bed. He pulled the cane from his white-knuckle grip, removed his jacket and laid him back as Vin raised his bandaged feet. Ezra was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

"I reckon he's done himself in for the night," Vin said.

"You could be right but why don't you head downstairs and grab us a couple o' beers. We'll keep him company just in case." The tracker moved to the door. "Oh and Vin, let's not tell Nathan about Ezra's trip outside."

Tanner nodded and left, leaving the gunfighter to the quiet of Ezra's room. It was almost too quiet considering everything that had happened since the arrival of his father-in-law, but it was something he felt he could get used to. The 'noise' that had filled his head in the past weeks was something he realized had been there to some degree since Sarah and Adam had died. It was a rush of sound he used to distract himself, to keep himself from remembering clearly the heartache he felt at being left alone. Seeing Hank again reminded him he needed to remember… not the pain or the loss, but the sound of Sarah's voice and the echo of Adam's laughter. Those two things had very nearly faded from his mind and he desperately wanted them back.

He settled himself on the bed across the room from Ezra's and listened to the gambler snore. Maybe this time he would sleep through the night, he hoped anyway. He removed his jacket and tossed it to the foot of the bed. When he heard a thump, he remembered the package Hobson had given him earlier. He pulled it out of his pocket and noticed there were no markings on the outside of the parcel to indicate who had sent it, just his name in care of the General Store in Four Corners. He snapped the cord, removed the brown paper and a small wooden box fell into his lap. When he pulled the lid and saw its contents, he quickly got to his feet, turned his back to Ezra and growled "What the hell!" He couldn't believe it; it wasn't possible. How had it survived? And who would send such a thing to him now? Why? He gawked at the package until he heard someone at the door. When he saw the knob turn, he drew the gun from his holster and took a defensive position in front of Ezra.

The door opened smoothly to reveal Vin holding two beers in one hand and a third in the other. "Hey, I thought Ezra could use a drink if he wa…" He saw Chris aiming a gun at him. "Whoa, pard, it's me!"

The gunfighter held the weapon up a second longer than he needed to. "Damn it, Vin."

"Who'd ya think it was?" Tanner put the glasses down.

Chris holstered his gun and stormed towards the door. "The son of a bitch who sent this," he replied as he shoved the box at the tracker and made to leave.

"Hold on, where the hell are ya goin'?"

"To see a man about a package."

"A what?"

"Just stay here and keep an eye on Ezra. Nobody gets in here you don't know, got it?"

"Chris, what are you…"

"Got it?" he asked through clenched teeth. "Nobody gets near him."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of him, just tell me…" but before he could finish, Chris was gone.

Vin fumbled with what his friend had handed over. "What's got in to you, Chris?" He dipped his fingers into the box, removed what was inside and held it up to the light. "Damn," he said with a grimace and threw it onto the dresser in disgust. He had no idea what it meant, but he knew Chris Larabee and if he was worried for Ezra's safety, then he'd do exactly as he'd been told.

He pulled the chair between Ezra and the door and listened to the mumbled beginnings of yet another of the gambler's nightmares. He knew Ezra couldn't remember what had happened with the Nichols, at least while he was awake, but his dreams were alive with what they had done to him. That a man should suffer so much his mind couldn't take it wasn't completely unfamiliar to the tracker, but that it should happen to someone he called friend was unacceptable. He reached around and gently patted Ezra's knee. "Take it easy, pard. I got your back." He stared at the door, sparing the dresser only the briefest glance even though the thing that lay atop it loomed like a beacon from hell.

A beacon in the form of a woman's lace handkerchief…

… wrinkled with use and stiffened with dried blood.

THE END

A/N: Well it's been a long ride, but I hope it's been worth it for all those folks who have hung in there with me. I know I've enjoyed it -- the story and the new friends I've made because of it. Now I'm off to start something new.... watch for me in 2009! Happy New Year! Jordan


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